


Loki Never Dies

by horngeek



Category: Scion (Tabletop RPG)
Genre: F/F, Role-Playing Game, Roleplay Logs, Technically a James Bond cross but he doesn't appear so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 17:55:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 26,528
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27730381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horngeek/pseuds/horngeek
Summary: Going to add a more complete introduction to this and edit the first chapter; for now, this is the logs of a single-PC Scion game GMed by a friend of mine.  Dark blue is me, black is storyguide, I've edited things a bit.
Kudos: 5





	1. The Hungering Earth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going to add a more complete introduction to this and edit the first chapter; for now, this is the logs of a single-PC Scion game GMed by a friend of mine. Dark blue is me, black is storyguide, I've edited things a bit.

Vauxhall Cross is the public face of the British Special Intelligence Service, known to the world as MI-6, the beating heart of an espionage and intelligence network that stretches across the known World and beyond. To the surprise of many, the stately complex of buildings and bunkers on the banks of the Thames truly _is_ the working headquarters, and not some incredibly expensive distraction; it is here, among lush gardens and sweeping balconies, that the business of the day is done.

The summons from Vera's boss was, customarily, brief and to the point. Situation in France, delicate political situation, briefing to be provided in person, sorry about the short notice.

The agent doesn't actually _spend_ a lot of time in her London apartment. Sleep. Head into work, or out clubbing if she spends more than a few days in the City. 

In this case, the call catches her sleeping. Blinking away the sleepiness, her eyes focus as she sends a quick reply and sits up in her bed. "On my way."

Shower. Tie messy blond hair back in a loose ponytail. Dress herself- in a _suit_ , thank you very much, dresses are for the occasional mission where she has to go undercover (or pick up girls into that sort of thing). Hesitate for a moment over a knife in a sheathe. Not really a knife, though. 

She takes it, stowing it in her coat, where it sits hidden. But the gift from her... _big brother_ is a presence, a reminder of recent changes. 

And she takes the car in. Arriving in style, in her personal Lexus, into the secure garage of Vauxhall. Up to the security guard, lowering sunglasses to reveal piercing blue eyes. "Agent Wolff. Meeting with M."

"You're expected, ma'am," the security guard says, all quiet professionalism and carefully blind eyes. He could be snatched from the street and interrogated at length and all he will reveal is that some of his superiors have very nice cars.

The lift that takes Vera up to the briefing room is smooth and whisper-quiet, packed with more scanners and security devices than... well, anything short of "headquarters of a spy agency", all tucked politely out of view. If she didn't know about them it would be easy to overlook the fact that they exist.

The room in question looks remarkably similar to the boardrooms of any number of corporate offices in the City, with a rich walnut desk and side-tables laden with fine whiskey and other moderate indulgences. M is waiting for his agent, studying the garden through triple-glazed security glass, a thoughtful and half-aware smile on their face.

Vera nods, walking up besides her boss, none of the bleariness from earlier in her eyes. "M. You wanted to see me?"

All professionalism, as she stows her sunglasses.

"009," M says, and in this moment they truly are 'M'. Vera's known half a dozen different people who have held that office during her tenure in SIS, colourless public-school suits and hard-bitten former agents alike, and all of them had this exact same way of speaking, these same mannerisms. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

They turn away from the window, and with a flick of one hand conjure a shimmering holographic image against the far wall. A villa and surrounding countryside, somewhere in southern Europe she think. 

"I'm sending you to France," M says briskly, "There's been a disappearance there of late - one Captain Jonas Green, of Her Majesty's Royal Army, vanished while on holiday there two days ago. Not normally our concern, but for one crucial detail; the good Captain is part of the staff at Pindar Bunker."

Vera's eyes narrow, as she studies the villa. "Defence Crisis Management Centre, yes. What's his role there?"

"Communication specialist," M nods, tapping the surface of the desk and drawing forth from some hidden drawer a sheathe of documents - copies of the good Captain's personal records, at a glance. "Not by any means an irreplaceable man, the Bunker doesn't like such singular points of failure, but an important component in our disaster response network all the same. There's nothing in his record that indicates he is prone to gossip or boasting about his role, but it isn't impossible someone could have found out regardless."

Vera hums, taking a copy. Looking for marriage status- did he go with family, or alone?

"And, just as importantly, it means he knows about the Bunker's communications protocols. The message mentioned a delicate political situation- are the French being difficult?"

The unspoken _again_ doesn't leave her lips. Not that the relationship hasn't been strained on both sides, recently...

"Oh no. They're being _very_ helpful," M shakes their head, sighing, "It's our side that are being awkward. Some sort of political consideration in the negotiations, thoughts to the shape of our relationship once this current mess is dealt with. Westminster wants a joint operation that we are indisputably in charge of, something they can use to show people on the continent how useful our continued cooperation in future could be."

M sighs, shaking their head, and Vera knows enough of their personal opinions to guess at the reason. One does not become M without a generalised sense of exasperated tolerance for one's lords and masters, coupled with a general belief that the intelligence services could run themselves perfectly well if only the politicians would step back and let them _do_ it.

"Normally I would be all in favour of it, but if our man _has_ been taken by someone of note, time is an issue."

Fucking _Brexit_ , Vera doesn't say. "Naturally. Are there any groups of interest operating in the area?"

She pauses. This isn't likely to be a _family_ matter, given the location, but still...

"There are reports that a family of Dvergar have set up shop in the town in the last few years," M says pensively, "It is hoped that your unique status might allow you to grasp some kind of lead from that source. Otherwise, not much. This town... more of a village, really... it's a small place, quiet and out of the way, which is one of the things that makes it a favoured getaway for people of importance. There shouldn't be all that much there _capable_ of causing trouble for a captain with his head on his shoulders."

In the notes, Vera sees that Captain Green is unmarried, though with a propensity to indulge in short term relationships with individuals of both sexes at times. Attempts at forming longer term relationships seem inclined to fail given the classified nature of his work and daily routine.

And doesn't _that_ hit home. Vera tries not to be as... _cavalier_ about relationships as some of her fellow 00 agents, but lasting relationships are rather difficult. "Very well. I'll get started, and take the next flight down."

"Good woman. If it turns out this is all a false alarm and he's just drunk in a french bar somewhere, consider staying and enjoying yourself for a while, a holiday by way of apology," M smiles slightly, because they both know it won't be that simple. It could be, theoretically, but it won't. "Speak to Penny before you go, she'll get you set up with the logistics."

"Of course."

Vera smiles. Things are _never_ that simple. "Until later then, M."

She looks over the notes one more time, then sets them down, leaving the room with a nod and heading to the secretary. "Penny. Good to see you again. M said to see you about logistics for my trip down south."

And there _is_ a bit of warmth in her eyes, to go along with a smile. Vera genuinely likes M's secretary, after all, and her no-nonsense attitude.

"I expect he would," Penny - she never did have any patience with the formal title or inherited codename, nor those of any who come to see her - says with a faint sniff, "No one else in this whole blasted building can so much as fill in a spreadsheet properly."

Manicured fingernails tap rapidly at a keyboard, while too-straight teeth chew thoughtfully on her bottom lip for a moment. "So, Miss Wolff, how would you like to travel today? Society girl on getaway, student on vacation, office woman on business?"

"..."

Vera narrows her eyes. "Officewoman on business, I think. Closest to the truth, and one of the leads will very much prefer honesty. Also, gives us the excuse to make it quick."

She hums. "Didn't ask M- who're are the contacts on the French side of things? Should touch base with them at least, no reason _we_ have to be impolite just because the bosses are shouting at each other right now."

"You're in luck," Penny says, with a dry edge to her voice that always suggests certain _opinions_ hovering unspoken just below the surface, "while the DGSE are not officially talking to us, they _did_ send one of their operatives to the area lately. On holiday."

The woman in the picture she hands Vera is tall, blond, stunningly beautiful and wearing considerably more clothes than the last time she saw her.

"Eloise Parly," Penny says with a tiny smirk that Vera isn't entirely sure can fairly be called any kind of professional, "I believe the two of you are... acquainted."

Vera chuckles. "Mmm. Rather so, yes."

She makes a mental note to pack some extra items. "Very well. What time's my flight?"

"Heathrow, half seven tomorrow morning," Penny says with a winning smile, as though this doesn't demand Vera wake at some ungodly hour in the morning to get there in time, "Should get you across the border bright and early, and we'll have a car under your name from the rental depot. Sorry, nothing custom or particularly impressive."

The small printer next to her desk buzzes violently as it spews forth travel documents and itineraries.

Vera smiles, an amused glint in her eye. "Such a cruel taskmaster."

"Although if I need an ejector seat in France, something's gone _very_ wrong. I’ll swing by the Quartermaster's office on the way back to my place. Until later, Penny."

"Stay safe, Miss Wolff," Penny says, the very picture of innocence, "And don't do anything I wouldn't."

"Mmm. No promises."

-/-

Heathrow is the same as it ever is - open, spacious, chill to the point of feeling almost disinfected, filled with shambling hordes of early-morning travellers. Vera's papers and passports get her through customs quickly enough, the guards looking the other way rather than inspecting her bags too closely, and for all her petty bullying Penny was at least kind enough to book her a first class flight to Toulouse. 

The flight itself is smooth, routine... save perhaps for one brief moment midway across the Channel, when the horizon is suddenly consumed by a brief flash of colour, a rainbow that lasts but a few minutes more before fading slowly into the blue skies of a summer morning.

Vera blinks, as she looks out the windows. 

She's not fool enough to think that a coincidence.

During the flight, Vera gets out a wooden bowl, and some stones, carved with runes. She's never been one to practice _seidr_ , but with her new gifts... there's a degree of insight afforded to her, now. 

She casts the stones into the bowl, her eyes closed, focused on the threads of the Wyrd, of Fate itself. It's a vague foretelling, a supplement-  
But another lead will be another lead. 

She opens her eyes, and looks at how the runes are laid out. Looks for the secrets they tell.

The runes are, as ever, somewhat imprecise. Or rather they are entirely precise, but without the context to understand them they might as well be random.

Here there is the rune for "hunger/desperation", over there the symbol for "earth" or "mountain" or perhaps "stone". Another symbol lies between them, the rune for conflict and violence, though whether it is the cause of the others or holding them apart is more ambiguous.

The hungry earth? Vera frowns as she puts the runes away. It's a hint, but nothing more, unfortunately.

It definitely suggests something _more_ to this, though.

Either way- she can't do more without knowing the situation on the ground. 

She settles down, watching a movie as she travels towards France.

Toulouse International Airport is... honestly, once one has flown enough places, one airport looks much the same as any other. The decor is different, the language people speak changes, but the general ebb and flow remains the same. Go here to collect her luggage, queue there to pass through security, speak to these people to explain

"Purpose for your visit?"

"Business."

Vera turns over documentation, waiting for it to be approved (of course it will be- it's assigned properly, after all). The good part of having a knife where the blade isn't metal... she doesn't set off any metal detectors. And a gun- well, that generally comes with the car.

She doesn't offer more detail- not unless asked, which the custom peoples rarely do. She maintains an air of professionalism- quiet, but not as cold as she is when properly _on the job_.

Nobody looks twice. Why would they? There's nothing particularly unusual about Vera's documentation, her outfit, her reason for being in France. A few glance her way for more base reasons, appreciating the view, but few care to linger. 

Soon enough she's through passport control and speaking to the receptionist at the car hire company, who confirms that a reservation has been made in Vera's name and hands over the keys with minimal fuss. And then she is on the road.

Vera hums. The car- Skoda, she doesn't check the exact make- will do in a pinch. She checks the glove box... excellent, pistol. Q always does good work. 

And then, she's off, driving towards the last known location that Captain Green was seen at. And before she sets off, she sends a text message. 

_Heard we're working together again. Meet up to compare notes, have a drink?_

After a moment, she sends another. _Maybe more._

Vera's phone helpfully informs her that the message has been read within five minutes of being sent. It takes close to an hour, however, before she gets a response.

_You're buying._

The Captain, it seems, chose his holiday destination well. The town she's bound for specialises in such things, with just enough local infrastructure to support a sizeable population of townhouses, villas and other pleasant accommodations for city-folk and tourists looking to get away from it all for just a few days. There is a beach nearby and several scenic hiking routes, but nothing even close to a nightclub.

Vera looks around the city a little, before checking into her hotel. In particular, she makes an effort to locate the Dvergar are- not to meet up with them, not _just_ yet... but so she knows where to go. Then, she pings Eloise the location of a particularly promising bar, one close enough to her hotel- and one that has relatively private booths they can talk in.

It's easy to identify which building belongs to the Dvergar, because it's the only one that looks like a fortress. Not visibly so, it doesn't jive offensively with the surrounding aesthetic, the dwarves are too good at their craft to do that... but Vera takes one look at the place, at the walls and overhanging firelines and broken lines of sight, and finds herself wincing at the amount of blood it would cost to take the place from even a moderately grumpy farmer with a shotgun. 

The Dvergar, she expects, will have rather more than that at their disposal.

The bar is a popular one, filled with thronging crowds of tourists and locals alike, all bantering with one another in small groups in a medley of tongues and accents that the soft background music only seems to encourage. It seems like a remarkably friendly place, all told, exactly the sort of place where one can simply relax and let their worries melt away, replaced with warm memories of a pleasant holiday.

Vera whistles slightly, impressed, before moving onto the bar- and smiles. 

This sort of chatter makes it easy to go unheard. She picks out one of the unoccupied booths- a couple's booth (appropriately enough).

Easy to cover a private conversation, easy to pick out anyone trying to listen in. She settles in, to wait for Eloise.

Vera notices when Eloise walks in, of course. Everyone in the bar does. Tall, built with a dancer's grace, with long honey-blond hair and a ready smile that can stop an unwary maiden's heart... Eloise Parly is beautiful and she knows it.

(Vera has seen her draw a knife on someone who didn't even notice because he was too busy looking into her eyes.)

"Vera, darling," she says with a throaty purr, all but flowing across the room to take a seat opposite the British agent in the booth, "It's been too long."

"Eloise!"

Vera doesn’t focus entirely on her eyes- of _course_ not- but, well, she certainly notices them. And the rest of her. Her voice lowers to a soft purr. "I brought the handcuffs~"

And then, anyone listening convinced that this is a reunion between lovers... which, technically, it _is_... Vera smiles. "But first, regrettably. Business. I’ve got a lead, but I was very much hoping you'd have more."

"A few," Eloise says, a wicked little smile on her face as she settles herself into place, resting her chin on her hands, "but you know, it's _dreadfully_ careless of you, misplacing such a strapping young man like that. One might almost think your friends didn't know what they were doing."

"Sometimes, I wonder."

Vera's tone of voice is _extremely_ deadpan. "In this case, however... I imagine you don’t expect to misplace a phone you set down on a table to recharge, hmm? Especially not in a friend's home."

Part of the reason she _likes_ Eloise- this little battle, trading of wits, _matching_ wits. Vera's smile is genuine, even if it’s not _completely_ unguarded.

"True, true, but fortunately the solution there is obvious," Eloise says, still smiling as she looks at Vera, still... wait no ok she's not drawn a gun or anything, good. "One simply... asks the friend. So go on then."

She leans in, just slightly, and her long green dress falls forwards in a way that cannot possibly be accidental. "Ask me to help. _Nicely_."

Vera smiles- and catches Eloise's hand, leaning forwards herself, their faces close. "Please. Help me find him. Bring him home, or take out the bastard responsible."

She pauses. "Preferably, both. I can make it _well_ worth your while, too~"

Then, the smile returns. "And I'll owe you one. You know what that's worth."

"Mm... yes, yes I do," Eloise says with a laugh, sitting back in her chair, "Very well then."

She takes a moment to collect herself, then nods. "We kept an eye on your man, low-level stuff, just like we would for anyone with a foreign security clearance. Nothing particularly noteworthy cropped up, but apparently he was asking around about local mountains, caves, that sort of thing. Seemed to be in the mood for a bit of amateur exploration, and there's certainly enough areas near here where that sort of thing could be a fun day out... or an excellent way to get yourself isolated."

"Mmm. Spelunking is a dangerous activity at the best of times, too."

Vera hums, sitting back a moment. "Is there a significant community of cave explorers here? And... any caves of note in legends or folklore?"

"There's not much _local_ that's significant in just about anything - most people who come here will have decided on what they plan to do long before arrival, through internet research and old stories," Eloise shrugs briefly, though there is a quizzical look in her eyes, "As for caves of note, I wouldn't know. It's never really been my interest. Nor yours, last I knew."

Vera pauses for a moment. "Didn’t have reason to, before. But there's a family of Dvergar here, yes? SIS figures there's a chance it’s connected, and when you mention caves as well..."

It’s true, but- not the _whole_ truth.

Doesn’t mention the revelations of parentage.

"There is," Eloise nods warily, "We try not to have much to do with them, where possible, so long as they keep to themselves. Too much chance for... lingering consequences, so to speak. Feel free to chase them up if you want, just make sure it's clear this isn't on behalf of my government."

There is a pause there, as drinks are brought over from the bartender - on the house, something that Eloise always seemed able to entice more than Vera - but there's a strong impression that Vera's fellow spy has picked up that there's more to this than she was saying. Eloise always did have a suspicious mind.

"That shouldn’t be a problem, no."

Vera actually twiddles her thumbs a bit. Her status is going to get out, probably sooner rather than later- but part of her would really prefer it be later. "Anyways. Last thing I want to know tonight, before we move on... anyone he's been talking to in particular? Pretty girls or guys he's been trying to impress, that sort of thing."

"I don't know, but I could find out," Eloise offers, "I've only been here less than a day, but if you want to follow up on the Dvergar I'm sure I'll have something by the time you're done."

"Don't want to see my apartment first?"

Vera grins, winking at her. "Mmm... on second thought, that can wait. Business before pleasure. But, Eloise?"

As they stand up, Vera takes a hand once more- and gently pulls the other woman in for a kiss, deep and passionate, before they separate. "It _is_ good to see you again."

"Mm... maybe you'll stay for longer than a night, this time," Eloise says with a wicked grin as they pull apart, "I'm told you brought the tools to make that possible..."

Laughing, she strides away, and Vera is left to put up with a barrage of whistles and shouted encouragement from a very enthusiastic audience in the wider bar. 

_Frenchmen_.

-/-

As Vera's initial survey suggested, the Dvergar house is a squat, well constructed townhouse on the edge of town, with a commanding view over the surrounding terrain and enough walls to suggest a distinct wish for privacy. There is a small bell by the main gates, a camera overlooking the approach, and a neat little brass plaque that suggests marketers might wish to go elsewhere.

Vera only brings one weapon (her gift from her brother)- but is fully prepared to leave it to one side, if needed. She looks up at the camera as she approaches, removing her sunglasses... then, she rings the doorbell.

There is a pause, and then a harsh voice emerges from some hidden speaker.

" _Who are you and what do you want?_ "

"Vera, named Wolf-Sister by some. I come on behalf of those I bear loyalty to, seeking a man who's gone missing while taking holiday in this town. And the Dvergar let little pass unnoticed. It's my hope that you might know something, and I humbly ask you might trade if you have any knowledge."

" _Wolf-Sister? Hmm._ "

There is a pause, and then the gate slides open slowly on oiled rails.

There is a dwarf on the patio of the house ahead, stocky with muscle and clad in an elegant three-piece suit loosened as one might expect from one unwinding after a hard day's work. He is smoking some strange herb in an elegant pipe, and his skin is the dusky blue of the evening sky. 

"Hrodi Flamebrand," he introduces himself with a nod, "And you, you're not entirely mortal, now are you? Got half my family's wards singing just by walking up to the gate."

Vera pauses. "A pleasure to meet you, Hrodi. No, I’m not. Learned about it a few months ago. My mother's Loki."

She shrugs. "I'm... not sure how I feel about that just yet, I will be honest."

Hrodi chuckles darkly, small clouds of smoke escaping from between his lips with every sound. "Well, you'll forgive me if I don't let one of the trickster's get into our home. Who is this man you're hunting, and what'd reckon you have in worthy trade?"

It stings, a little, but Vera tilts her head. "Entirely fair, given the tales of how they tried to cheat your kind. Jonas Green. He works in communications of a sensitive nature, he was on holiday here. The only thing I know for sure is that he was planning to go cavediving here. The runes suggested to me something about hungry earth, but they're... unclear."

Vera hums. "As for trade. If someone's bothering you, I can offer my services in getting them to back off- whether by threat, violence, or finding something you can exploit."

"Hungry Earth, eh?" The dwarf puffs on his pipe for a moment, then nods. "The caves near here, out of town to the east, they run deep. Deep enough to breach the earthways in places. There's been movement down there lately, runes sacred to Jörd carved in the living rock. Might be your man stumbled over something he shouldn't, might be he slipped and broke his neck. Its a good place to start looking either way, I reckon."

He takes another draw on the pipe. "We'll hold onto that service for now, I think, assuming this pans out."

"To _Jord_."

Vera nods. "My thanks."

She scribbles down her personal phone number. "Here. If you need that service. Can't guarantee I’ll be there _immediately_ , I do owe loyalty to others, but you've got _my_ promise that I’ll be there as soon as I can. I might not be able to help what my family’s like, but unlike certain people-"

Vera presses her lips together. "Well. Words only mean anything once they’ve been backed up with action. Thank you for your assistance."

"Hah. We'll see if your actions back it up, then," The dwarf chuckles, but he takes the number anyway, and there's a certain care as he tucks it away that suggests it will be remembered. "Go and hunt, Wolf-Sister. We'll be here once you're done."


	2. From Hel's Jaws

The day is drawing on when Vera emerges from the Dvergar's fortified mansion, the sun slowly dipping towards the horizon and the distant sound of tourists and locals finishing their daily work growing louder. Places like this don't truly sleep until the early hours, if that, but there is a feeling of transition in the air as work becomes play and the bars open up in full.

Vera hums, spitting off a text message to Eloise. Telling the French agent of a potential lead... and asking whether there are any local libraries. 

She wants to at least _try_ to hit the books. It's not her area of expertise, not by a long shot, but... recent events have shown her the benefit of making sure she's prepared.

_One of any size, if you think it might help._

The phone pings a moment later, a helpful little map appearing... though without the suggested route it clearly wants to offer, since MI6 agents are not prone to sharing their locations.

Vera pings back a thanks. _And meet me at the bar afterwards. I'll tell you if I've found anything there, and share what the Dvergar had to offer._

((I'm making an Intellect+Occult roll to see if Vera can get anything from the libraries about local cults to Jord or the like.))  
((horngeek rolled 1 [3; 7; 4; 9]))

Unfortunately, it seems the local library is far from any kind of hidden trove of information. Searching for Jord gets Vera a few versions of the old creation story and a couple of her more prominent myths, but little in the way of local, actionable intelligence. She does find notes that her faith seems to gravitate towards areas rich in copper when given the option, which might be something.

Vera hums, making her way to the bar- swinging back by her rented room on the way- and then meets up with the frenchwoman at the bar, a smile on her face. "Eloise. The meeting did give me some promising leads. Think there's anywhere private where we can... _discuss_ matters?"

A wink suggests that discussion isn't the _only_ thing Vera potentially has in mind if Eloise is interested...

"Pleasure before business, darling," Eloise says from her position by the bar, a glass of something tall and fruity only half empty in front of her, "So take a seat and try to make it look like we're not conspiring, mm?"

Vera chuckles. "Mmm. Apparently, the Dvergar have spotted runes sacred to Jord- some of the caves run deep enough to breach the... earthways, he called it."

She calls a drink herself, something non-alcoholic. "That's what my quick check in the library was of. If this town had any sort of history. Only thing I could turn up was that her faith tends to gravitate towards areas rich in copper. Are there any old copper mines here?"

There's a moment's pause as she receives her drink, and absent-mindedly pushes the spoon around in the drink for a bit, thinking.

"One a fair way out of town," Eloise says with a slow, deliberately casual air, one that Vera recognises immediately. It's the attitude of an agent who thinks people are watching her. 

"It closed down a few generations ago, but the families of the men who worked there are still in town. Apparently your lost little soldier boy was seen talking to a few of them."

((Reminder that the Epic Perception Innate renders Vera immune to all attempts at surprise))  
((She's making a... hmmmm))  
((@Maugan Ra would it be a Subterfuge+Mental roll to try and spot the people Eloise is concerned about and do it quietly?))  
((I'll eyeball it as that, so Subterfuge+Cunning))  
((horngeek rolled 2 [4; 8; 8; 2; 1; 5; 7; 4]))  
((I'm also using Keen-Eyed Predator- I make a Knack roll (Using Firearms in this case). Assuming Mental arena again, correct me if I'm wrong. I get to ask one question from the Knack list, plus one for each success))  
((horngeek rolled 2 [(10;1); 4; 6; 4; 5; 9]))  
((Questions:  
How many hostile enemies are present?  
Who (or what) is the biggest threat?  
Where is the nearest exit?))

Vera raises an eyebrow. And- subtly- checks to see. And... there's something that _heightens_ her senses for a moment, she's not sure what. "Hmmm. Did it close down because the vein was played out?"

"You know, I'm just not sure. No one really is, around here," Eloise says, sipping at her drink, "But they all assume it must be the case, and they get kind of twitchy about people asking."

Ah, yes, now that she looks... there are three men, sitting at a table near the entrance, tall and muscular and not doing nearly as good a job at looking inconspicuous as they clearly assume. Locals, clearly, but locals content to sit in their corner and drink their beer and keep a wary eye on the two women sitting at the bar.

((Three

The possibility of allies coming to their aid, since they are locals and you are not

They are sitting next to the main entrance, but you remember seeing a side door out past the bathrooms to your left))

"Mmm."

Vera taps three times on the table, then her gaze flickers... hrmmm. No, not the front entrance. They're _definitely_ planning to start something, and she doesn't want to use her pistol or her knife here. Her finger, subtly, points to the back exit. 

Her head never turns directly towards the three men. "Interesting. But, maybe..."

She takes Eloise's hand. "We should continue this elsewhere?"

The flirtatious smile doesn't _quite_ reach her eyes.

"I was hoping you'd ask," Eloise says, smiling in turn, and her smile _does_ reach her eyes. Indeed, she seems entirely and truly into her role... but Vera's seen her work before, and know that she is entirely capable of lethal violence even while thinking about other, entirely more enjoyable things. 

Together the two agents rise, and behind them there is a faint tension as the men take note of their movements.

Vera murmurs into her ear. "You won't mind if we go by the bathroom first, though, would you?"

And, smiling, she takes Eloise's arm in her own- loosely, so if violence _does_ break out, they can move quickly- and starts leading the frenchwoman out the back entrance.

Nobody starts a fight in the bar itself, which is perhaps to be expected, and the men do not rise from their own seats as they head for the bathroom. They do not, Vera thinks, have a proper read of this situation... just local toughs, out to intimidate or thrash whoever is asking questions where they shouldn't. 

"Amateurs," Eloise says with a sigh as they slip out of the side door and into the rapidly growing gloom, "Brats who think a few muscles gives them right and ability to do as they wish. Such a shame."

Vera starts to steer her towards her own hotel room- keep up the illusion. "Mmm. But if there had been a fight... it wouldn't have just been them. They were the only ones _planning_ something, but I reckon half the bar would have joined in against us if it came to a fight. At least."

"It very much suggests there's something more going on here."

"Ah, how wonderful. That means you will find your soldier boy and go home, and I will be stuck here rooting out this mess," Eloise grumbles, though she moves with enough grace to still be sober and her eyes keep a sharp watch on the surrounding alleyways. "Oh, well. Such is life. You intend to look at this copper mine, then?"

"Mmm. That _would_ satisfy those I answer to. But some members of my-"

Vera cuts off. Shakes her head, after a mixed expression that seems... almost-resentful, partially guarded. "Some would say there's value in keeping your friends happy. I'll help with breaking the back of whatever this is, even if I can't stay for the cleanup."

After a moment more, she nods. "Yes, I believe I am. Might not be able to find a guide, though."

"I can drop you off nearby," Eloise offers, as the elegant form of Vera's chosen hotel comes into sight at last, "That's about all I can do up-front, since this has the makings of something a bit bigger than just a missing person."

Vera nods. "All right. I'll let you know on my way up if there's any information that might help on your end."

After a moment, she smiles, and this time, the warmth _does_ touch her eyes. "However... I think that _can_ wait. And now that we've talked about business..."

"Ah, so _insatiable_ ," Eloise says with a sly smile, leaning up against Vera slightly, the warmth of her body pressed against the Scion's suddenly far more noticeable, "Are you not worried that I might, mm... wear you out?"

Vera smiles. "Oh... I think there's less possibility of _that_ -"

As they enter the lift, Vera pulls out a pair of handcuffs from her bag, her smile turning to a grin. "Than the other way around."

"Oh, such unending hunger. Whatever is a poor maiden to do..."

-/-

Eloise looks good in one of Vera's spare shirts, it must be said, the cotton rumpled in just the right way to complement her golden hair rippling in the wind. The car - her car, not Vera's rental one, a roofless sports model with any number of hidden customisations - purrs like a cat as she guides it along country roads and coastal lanes at rather recklessly high speeds. 

"The next bend will put us half a mile from the mine," she calls out, having to raise her voice so Vera can hear her over the wind, "You'll need to cross that yourself. I'll go park up somewhere a bit further on, enjoy the coastal view. Call me if you need an extraction."

Vera nods. "All right."

She's checking her pistol... and then, a long knife. One that almost seems like _bone_ , one that she handles with care as she checks it over. Her eyes all business... but there's a moment of genuine warmth. "I will. Take care."

Then, her expression returns to all business. 

The Wolf-Sister is on the hunt.

She notices Eloise's gaze linger on the knife for a moment... but she says nothing, and soon enough is slowing down at the bend of an isolated country road, surrounded by sandy hills and coarse grass. There is not much in the way of cover, between Vera and the location of the mine, but that is merely a challenge.

Vera hums as she gets out, slipping a pair of sunglasses on. "All right. Time to get to work."

The contours of the land itself serve to hide her approach from most observers, and soon enough she reaches the lip of a hill overlooking the site itself. 

The valley here looks much like any other, save for the old dirt trail that winds along its base and the looming cavern of the mine opening. The whole area is increasingly overgrown, seemingly abandoned... but there are fresh tire tracks on the road, and on a rock near the entrance sits a young man with rolled up sleeves, casually smoking a cigarette. 

Vera tilts her head, and takes advantage of the young man being unaware to move behind him. 

She draws her knife. 

And _darts_ in, aiming to knock him out. She doesn't know enough just yet to go lethal- and this is a retrieval mission.

Part of being a 00 agent- is knowing when _not_ to pull the trigger.

The young man is just that - a local boy, asked to stand guard on this entrance, smoking to pass the time and listening to music on an old phone. He doesn't see the blow coming, and crumples to the ground.

Vera doesn't kill him, instead drawing her pistol. Her eyes flash gold, as she looks down into the darkness, and she starts to make her way underground.

Inside, it becomes rapidly apparent that this place is far from abandoned. There is an old generator whirring away somewhere, and strings of electric lights divide the tunnels into sharp pools of light and expanses of shadow. Some passages are old and ill-used, coated with dust and fragments of broken rock, while others have been carefully cleared and fresh boards laid down to form improvised walkways. 

This is a compound of sorts, inhabited by at least a dozen different people, many of them talking carefully to each other in some language that is most assuredly not French. They know the way around, that much is clear, but for an outsider the twists and turns threaten all manner of confusion and risks of discovery...

((I am Imbuing Legend to activate Animal Aspect (Wolf), the Senses benefit in particular  
Wolves, in fact, do have the same trait cats do that let them see in low-light conditions, and I'm using that so Vera doesn't need a flashlight to see in the dark.))  
((I'm gonna use Keen-Eyed Predator again while you make your OOC))

((I'm going to ask for some kind of navigate roll, or maybe perception I forget what abilities Scion even has

Every success above one can be used to either identify an Area of Interest or to ask a question about a given area))  
((Actually))  
((Keen Eyed Predator is perfect))

((horngeek rolled 2 [8; 9; 4; 5; 6; 2]))  
((Three questions, two locations))  
((Where is the safest way in?  
What kinds of hazards (such as terrain) are present?  
Who (or what) is the biggest threat?))  
((Areas of Interest  
Vera wants to know where the captain is  
And give me one other freebie))

((By sticking to the shadows - there are guards and people wandering about doing their business, but the bright lights have ruined their dark vision and they're not alert, so no rolls are required unless you step into the well lit areas

There are a lot of unstable ceilings, sharp drops and rough terrain, increasing in frequency the deeper you go into the mine. Stunts to take advantage of these are basically always applicable and generally require 2s

Vera identifies that some of the tunnels have been deliberately widened and there are claw marks high on the walls. There is definitely something non-human down here, but what it is and how dangerous it is are hard to say without a better look.))  
((Alright, hmm

\- The guy who seems to be in charge, based on how other people react to him, has a little office off to the side of a larger canteen/common room. He's currently behind a desk going over some kind of paperwork, there are two people in the common room.

\- The freebie is... a major shaft, with a spiral path cut into the sides of it to allow people to go up and down. There are multiple strands of copper ore in the walls, all of which seem to draw the eye despite the lack of light.))

Vera hums, rapidly identifying the claw marks, keeping to the shadows... and looking for the Captain as she does so.

She frowns for a moment, considering. To get information, or to head down the shaft first... after a moment, she hums, making her decision... and makes for the shaft. 

It's dark down there. But she's at home there, prowling.

Slowly she descends, following the spiral ramp down the shaft. The air grows thick here, warm and muggy in a way that Vera would not have thought possible, and her heart beats strongly in response. Some part of Vera suspects that the lowest depths of this mine leave the World behind entirely... but that is not immediately relevant.

At the base of the shaft the ramp terminates, and half a dozen different openings loom in the rock. Next to each of them, on the wall, are carved runes that shine faintly with a dull red light.

Vera's heart beats, and she breathes in. Drawing her knife, she looks towards the runes, trying to see if they have any _meaning_ to them...

The meaning, in that moment, is utterly and painfully clear. It pushes itself into her mind, comprehension coming with vision, the knowledge certain and undeniable. 

This is Jörd. It is a sacred place dedicated to the Earth Mother, it is her body and her flesh, it is her gift bestowed upon the faithful. Jörd carved these halls, Jörd guided her to them, Jörd knows and watches all that transpires within. The runes are a prayer and a paen, a devoted hymnal formed of worship given shape and reflected in the stone. 

Only those sanctified in the name of Jörd may pass, either as servants... or as sacrifices.

And yet-

And yet. Loki's daughter shares one trait with her mother. 

She's good at going where she's not supposed to be.

Vera lays one hand on a rune. "Earth-mother. I, Vera Wolf-Sister, seek passage. I haven't slain any of your servants. I have _avoided_ it. I'm granted permission to slay, but today I seek to rescue. Captain Green, a servant of those I'm sworn to, has been taken by your servants. By right of kinship through my mother, Loki, I ask passage today, so I may retrieve him."

There is a long pause, a sense of contemplation by something as old and enduring as the earth itself... and then two of the runes, the ones bracketing a particular passageway, flicker and dim. No other sign is given, but no alarm sounds either.

Vera lets out a breath. "My thanks."

Then, she continues, down the passageway offered to her.

The air grows thicker still as Vera advances, hot and cloying like the breath of some great monster, but none discover or interrupt her. Eventually she finds what she's looking for.

There is a large chamber, a natural cavern of fortuitous shape, and from the roof of the chamber have ropes and chains been hung like banners. From one hangs the beaten, bloody form of a middle aged man, his pale skin streaked with dust and his eyes narrow to slits by what looks to be the swelling of a broken jaw. 

Below, working, is his captor. 

The troll is a massive beast, a solid ten foot tall at the least and thickly corded with muscle beneath its hairy hide. It kneels near one wall, and in its clawed hands wields hammer and chisel, working with utmost concentration on engraving what appears to be some kind of ornate axe. It has not noticed her, and thank all the gods for that.

For a moment, Vera considers shooting the troll. Just... doing it, to Hel with the consequences of breaking a measure of hospitality. 

But, no. She's not her mother. And being a 00 means exercising _judgement_ , not just being a killing machine. 

Jord's permission, she assumes, includes actions she needs to rescue the captain- but she _did_ say she doesn't intend to slay. So, she steps out. Her pistol levelled, her knife drawn. "Troll. My name is Vera, Wolf-Sister. Sworn to those the man you are preparing to slay also serves, and tasked with his retrieval. Jord, recognising kinship, let me pass- and I would _prefer_ to honour that by all of us leaving alive."

"But I'm taking her letting me pass as permission to do what I need to."

Her eyes are cold, as she levels her pistol. "So I'm giving you the choice."

The troll stops in its movements. Then, oh so carefully, it sets down the tiny hammer and chisel, and turns to face Vera. Its face is as a mountain crag, twin tusks jutting out between its lips like spears, and eyes red and bright as flames squint down at her from above. 

" **Hmm** ," it says, and its voice is deeper than anything human could ever hope to be, " **Kin of the earth-mother, you say? I find that hard to believe.** "

It seems entirely unconcerned about the pistol. Of course it is - what are bullets going to do against something so huge?

"By Loki."

The knife, on the other hand- the _fang_ -

"My brother's tooth, I offer as proof."

Her voice, her tone, is deliberately bland, giving away nothing. "A tooth that was freely given."

" **The Deceiver's child? I see,** " the troll scratches itself thoughtfully, great claws drawing sparks as they grind against a skin of living rock, " **And bearing such a gift... very well. We shall talk, then, as peers.** "

It moves over to the far side of the room, where a small niche exists in the cavern wall, and from within draws out a glass bottle and a slab of salted meat.

" **I offer you food and drink, as is my duty as host** ," the troll says, the ground trembling as it moves back over towards you. 

In the background, Vera can see that Captain Green is awake, though he stays silent while hanging from his chains, watching the unfolding situation warily.

"I’ll be honest- this is a negotiation under truce. I'm not willing to accept the obligations of full guesthood until I know the Captain is safe."

Vera tilts her head, nodding up to him in acknowledgement.

" **Oh?** " The troll settles itself down, crossing its legs beneath itself. Of course, it's still bigger than Vera. " **And why should he be, when he trespassed upon the Earth-Mother's sacred ground?** "

Vera holsters the pistol. "Because his death, while it may seem small, will attract more attention than you can ultimately stand. His _disappearance_ has already started to bring it- and surely, it would be a major inconvenience for you to abandon this place you’ve anchored yourself in."

" **More than an inconvenience. This is sacred ground. I can not abandon it,** " the troll says with the kind of calm only the true believer can call upon, " **nor can those who trespass be suffered to leave without some manner of price.** "

It twists its head and looks up at the soldier for a moment. " **I had thought to use his blood to anchor my work. A blessed blade, to be wielded in the earth-mother's name, would seem fair trade for trespass against her. If you would have him spared, then some other payment must be offered.** "

Vera narrows her eyes. "What price would suffice?"

She doesn’t say she'll fulfil it. Quite deliberately so.

" **Make your offer,** " the troll replies, an eager smile revealing far too many teeth for any sane woman's comfort, " **for you came here to bargain for his release, did you not?** "

Vera's eyes narrow. "One question, before I make my offer. Do you intend to merely guard this place?"

" **This place is sacred to Jord. The rest, less so,** " the troll shrugs, shoulders rising and falling like waves, " **I am no vanguard to an invading host, Wolf-Sister, if that is what your masters fear.** "

"Not so much my _masters_ as their _allies_ , since that's who your sacred site is situated above. If both you and the worshippers above you are of like mind there, troll, then I offer that I can act to ensure you're left alone to worship. Or at least, carry that message."

"But that does depend both on you and the worshippers above."

" **Hrm. Words, words... words are air, Wolf-Sister. Here, we deal in earth and stone and blood,** " the troll growls, " **A promise to bear a message is no price worth the trespass.** "

"Didn't know," Captain Green speaks up, his voice slurred from the broken jaw and too long spent hanging from a cavern ceiling, "Didn't... they said it was... a good route..."

" **Trespass in ignorance is trespass still,** " the troll shakes its head, fur rippling in waves, " **but if you would have a price, wolf-sister... your blood. Not much, a goblet's worth at most. Your heritage lends it value, your pain a mark of sincerity.** "

Vera's eyes narrow. "That depends on what. _Exactly_. It allows you to do."

"And what power it gives you over me in future."

"You or anyone else who has it."

" **I will use it to forge a tool, imbued with your essence, and that of a god's child who bled for an ally's release,** " the troll says simply, " **What power it might grant, you gave to the Earth-Mother already by claims of kinship and request for passage.** "

Vera simply holds her hand out, and nods. "All right."

"Cup, please."


	3. Walk The Road

Vera's blood shimmers slightly in the low light, freshly spilled and caught in a goblet specially made for such purpose. With clawed hands fit for gutting a bull the troll picks it up and places the offering in a small niche in the wall, an approving grunt the only opinion on its quality.

" **The Bargain is struck,** " the smith speaks with a voice of gravel, " **I release the mortal into your care, sister of wolves.** "

Vera pulls a bandage out of her pocket, quickly wrapping her hand up, before she makes for the Captain to lower him down. "Quick question. Safe passage out is a given for down here, given the bargain. But does that extend to the mortals above?"

Unsaid, of course, is that if it _doesn't_ \- well, then, Vera isn't going to be inclined to be as gentle on her way out if she has to fight her way up.

She doesn't mention that technically, it's _Wolf_. Singular.

The troll shrugs, a peculiarly human motion for something so furiously primal. " **I do not speak for them. Perhaps you might claim kinship with the Earth Mother, and prevail on their hospitality in turn.** "

It reaches up and, with surprisingly gentle motions, unhooks Captain Green from the chains that held him dangling above the cavern floor. The officer groans in pain as he is set down, but immediately pushes himself back to his feet, leaning on the wall for support.

"Hmf. We'll see. Either way... we'll see each other again one day, I suspect."

She makes for Green. "Captain. Can you walk?"

"I think so," the man grunts, gingerly testing himself and his strength, "Running, though, that... is going to be tricky."

"Mmm. We'll manage."

Vera leads Green out, speaking once they're out of the room. "Fortunately, this won't hinder me any."

She draws her pistol, checking it- and checking the silencer, as they move towards the stairs up. "Stay behind me."

"Who even _are_ you," the captain grunts, but he obeys well enough, picking his way cautiously through the gloom in Vera's wake.

The troll watches them go without intervention, and soon enough Vera and her charge are back at the base of the old mine shaft, the spiralling path leading ever upwards. Unfortunately it seems something has happened, because she can already hear from above the sound of shouting and the echoes of tramping feet.

"009."

Vera's simple answer echoes as she frowns, considering. Does the shouting mean they're coming _down_ , or keeping watch on the outside...

After a moment, she starts to lead the Captain upwards, keeping a close ear out to try to determine which is the case.

The sounds are, to someone in Vera's field, remarkably familiar. The complex above has gone on high alert, but no greater effort has been organised, not yet. Likely someone found the unconscious body of the guard outside and has realised trouble is in the air, but they don't know where she is yet, or even if she's still here at all.

Vera nods, and pulls a pair of goggles out of her jacket. 

_"Night Vision Goggles? You know I can see in the dark now, Q?"_

_The SIS Quartermaster, in constrast to Penny, always was a stickler for the codewords. Good habits, he said. "But the Captain probably can't, 009! And besides, always have a backup. Also... two standard-issue explosive pens. Concealable, and while they don't pack a lot of force, they'll give out a controlled detonation."_

She hands them to the Captain. "Put them on. Follow me, and keep your head down."

A moment, to let Green put the goggles on- and then, with a hand on Fenris' gift...

It's said, one day, that Fenris-Wolf will swallow the sun. Or maybe his children will. 

Either way, the fang pulls a similar trick, now- and all the lights in the mine go out. 

Vera Wolff rises in the dark, her gun up and her knife in her other hand, her eyes instantly taking in the situation in front of her.

The path spirals upwards, through the gloom, and though the Captain is at her back, Vera can see his limp and bruised ribs render every step and breath clearly audible. Fortunately, it doesn't matter - darkness has consumed the mine, and when they reach the top of the shaft it is entirely unopposed, what guards there might have been either huddling together in small knots in defensible locations or swearing violently at suddenly non-functional generators.

Vera considers, judging the best pathway out... perhaps with a distraction. 

Yes, that'll do. She starts to lead Green, her knife returning to her sheathe so she can pull out one of the explosive pens.

It is, in the end, pure bad luck that sees a trio of men hurry around the corner in front of Vera, guns held tight in trembling hands. They stop and squint, trying to make out their identities in the shadowed depths of the mine.

"Who's there?" One of them calls, his french strained with fear and confusion.

Vera doesn't answer. 

She's not going to entrust Green's safety, or her own, to men who she owes nothing to, and who are holding weapons. 

She simply raises her pistol and, unseen, with three muffled sounds, shoots the trio. 

Three shots. 

Three fall to the ground, dead.

"...well, fuck," Captain Green mutters, shaking his head, "Guess some of the stories are true."

Vera has a window, it seems, before anyone finds their unfortunate comrades.

"Not out yet."

Vera's eyes are cold as she leads Green past the bodies. Making her way towards the entrance with some speed... she decides to leave one of the pens, activated, behind with said bodies. After a moment's thought, she sets it for... three minutes. Enough time for it to be a distraction when she needs it. 

The pens _used_ to be a set fuse, but they were a lot more useful this way. "Come on."

And then, she leads Green to the entrance.

They slip through the shadows and the gloom, avoiding further patrols and the wandering lost, until at last Vera and the Captain reach the entrance corridor. Here, it seems, there is some trace of organisation - denied of lights, the man in charge of these men has drawn as many as he can out of the mine and into the daylight beyond, where they can actually organise and prepare a response. There are at least a dozen out there, Vera can see from her concealed spot near the entrance, and judging by the use of the radio more are on the way from further afield.

"I... don't think I can run that gauntlet..." Captain Green mutters, wincing slightly as he presses himself into the cover offered by a side passage.

"Hmm. More than I care to take on in a straight fight myself."

Vera checks whether she has phone reception.

The signal is a little weak, but this close to the entrance Vera has at least some reception, it seems

"But fortunately..."

She sends a text message to Eloise, with a small grin. _Bunch of cultists flushed out of their defensible mine and into the open. Don't say I never get you anything. ;) You might need to help with collection, if you've been as busy as you normally are when I was underground._

The phone buzzes silently a moment later. 

_Aw, so thoughtful. I got you a ride. Over the hill on the right, run when you hear the signal. You'll know what it is._

Vera simply sends a kissing emoji back, her smile warm for a moment before it's all business. "French have a pickup ready. You said you probably couldn't run. Need a shoulder?"

"Or a painkiller," Green grunts, bracing himself as best he can for what is to come.

Vera tilts her head, holding up her pistol. "Sorry. Arm over me, then, keep my left arm free."

The Captain nods, getting his arm into position - desk job or not, he apparently observed proper fitness requirements, and is about as ready as one can ever be.

A moment later, the signal comes - a horrific wailing _scream_ from somewhere outside, a sound of fear and terror that goes on and on and on, scattering the cultists as they hunker behind rocks and stare around in paranoid fear or curl up into little balls on the ground.

"Huh."

Vera takes a moment to wonder _what_ , exactly, that was, even as she rushes out, supporting Green on her shoulder- and, as she does so, an explosion sounds from under the mine, thoroughly distracting anyone still left in there. 

She looks for the ride, even as she _hurries_.

Distracted and near-incapacitated as they are, the cultists are not blind, and one of them sees the two figures dart out of the cave mouth and begin making their way up the hill. Their shouts are not easily heard over the racket, but the choked roar of their guns is _considerably_ more effective, and stone begins to shatter in small puffs on the slope below Vera.

Under normal circumstances- this would be an awful situation to be in. But Vera is sister to _the_ Wolf, and the thing about wolves- when pursuing them, you never know when they'll turn and bite. 

Vera's pistol barks, loudly- she removed the silencer before this, to maneuver it better- as she fires behind her, seemingly without looking. And yet. And _yet._

Each time she fires, one of the men falls. One, to a headshot. Another, hit through the chest. 

They break, ducking under cover, about the time the fourth shot hits a cultist running back to the mines. And the Wolf-Sister and the man she guards-

They're free and clear.

There is a jeep on the other side of the hill, dirty and battered and covered in mud... or so it seems, at a glance, though Vera's sharp eyes can already detect the subtle signs of enhanced engineering beneath its humble exterior. The French, it seems, have their own analogue to Q-Branch.

Waiting next to the car is another of Eloise's coworkers, a judgement Vera makes on the basis of looks alone, for he is _distressingly_ pretty and dressed in a suit of silk and cotton that hangs open to reveal well-toned abs. At the sight of them he nods and opens the door, ushering agent and liberated captive inside like a hotel chauffer.

Vera's eyes pass over the man, simply raising an eyebrow before she slips inside, helping Green in. "Thanks for the pickup. I can pull together a map of the place from memory, it'll be _fairly_ complete."

"Eloise will appreciate it, I'm sure," the man says, sliding into the front seat and pressing down on the accelerator. The vehicle leaps forwards, gliding over the rough ground with silken grace as it barrels off down the path. "I had thought to maybe offer more direct help, but it seems you hardly needed it."

"The distraction was appreciated, regardless. Out of curiosity, what _was_ that?"

"Trade secret," The man grins, flashing teeth of pearly white and polished gold at Vera as he guides the jeep down the road, "Unless you care to trade answers?"

A swift twist of the wheel and they're on a main road, the purr of the engine carrying them endlessly onwards, the hills outside the window replaced by rolling fields.

"Hm. Fair."

Vera sits back... although she doesn’t _entirely_ relax. She doesn’t let her guard down around many people, after all.

Captain Green, by contrast, appears to have passed out entirely almost as soon as the adrenaline rush of his rescue has passed. He's snoring gently on the back seat now, and their driver rolls his eyes slightly as he looks back.

"I know he was on holiday, but really, accepting at face value when some friendly men tell you of a good caving spot you've never heard of before?" He chuckles faintly, as outside the fields give way to a built-up cityscape, "I do hope you're rather more perceptive than that, oh-oh-nine."

"Hm. There's a difference between accepting the word of strangers, and those who are at least allies."

Vera tilts her head, sniffing the air slightly... then looking at the man, her eyes narrowed. "Although by the same measure- I’m not asleep for a reason. A good one, I’d wager, given there aren’t any cities this close."

She puts a hand on her brother's fang. "Who are you?"

"A cousin of sorts, I'd say," the beautiful man says with a thoughtful expression, "Possibly uncle? It's hard to be precise in these matters. I'd say your mother tried to kill me once, but that's not nearly so exclusive a club as I might prefer."

Vera presses her lips together. Her hand remains on the knife-fang. "...I’ve read up. Gotta ask. Is this a 'take care of another spawn of Loki' thing?"

"Hm? Oh, please. You're still _family_ ," Vera's driver appears a little offended by the suggestion.

Her expression is guarded, but there's a degree of _hurt_ there. "Family dies. Or leaves, and never-"

She cuts off, then breathes out after a moment. "...well, anyways. you're not Tyr. Not Odin. Not Thor, wrong hair colour."

She tilts her head. "...Heimdall?"

"Good eye," The Father of Humanity says, grinning like he just made the most hilarious joke, "And yes, normally we stay out of things, or at least let the parent be the one to make the call, but since _someone_ is apparently not going to take the plunge..."

He pauses for a moment to glare out of the window, where the cityscape has faded and a roiling ocean has taken its place.

"...I thought I'd step in. Seeing as how I'm more or less the only one who doesn't need to fear the consequences, at any rate."

"..."

Vera pauses for a long moment, before breathing out. "The consequences?"

"Oh, no, don't worry," Heimdall says nonchalantly, "It's not like your mother has _forbidden_ anyone from seeing you or anything, but whenever people notice something odd about Loki everyone assumes its some complicated scheme or well-baited trap and they steer well clear."

Vera lets out a short breath. "Yeah. Got some of that already."

"To be fair, it might well be," Heimdall adds, in a thoughtful tone, "But I find life with Loki so much easier if you just let yourself take it as it comes, rather than tying yourself up in knots over it."

Vera considers, turning it over in her head for a moment. "Don’t take it personally, or just... don’t worry about what she'll... he'll... they'll do?"

"Bit of both, really. I know what they're going to do - kill me, when Ragnarok comes. And I know that I'll kill them in turn. Next to that, well, anything less feels kind of petty. There's so many better things to spend your time on, after all."

Heimdall hums to himself, then looks around with a delighted smile. Outside the window, Vera sees the massive form of a humpback whale breach the surface, extending a single fin up in a great arc through the air before crashing back down.

Vera nods, after a moment. "And so, even if this _is_ some sort of ploy by them, you're choosing to... what, recruit me? I _do_ have my loyalties already, you know. Although having friendly ties to my family-"

Very cuts off, breathes out, then shrugs. "Don't think anyone would object to that."

"Hah! Good instincts, they'll keep you alive, but no," Heimdall shakes his head, "I'm not here to ask anything of you, Vera Wolf-Sister. Not today. Today, all I want is to get to know the newest member of the extended family. Maybe we can go somewhere nice, spend some time together?"

There is a snore from the back seat.

"... _after_ we drop the good captain off at a hospital somewhere."

"...all right."

Vera pauses. " _And_ give that map to Eloise."

"Hmm," the god nods thoughtfully, "Are we.... no we're not at the point where I can make comments about your love life without starting a fight, are we?"

"Heh."

Vera shrugs. "You learn to cultivate the actual friendships you get on this job. They're good connections to have."

And they're the people who understand, she doesn’t add.

"Cultivating connections? Is that what they're calling it now?" The God of Perception asks with a twinkle in his eye, before holding up his hands when Vera look at him, "All right, all right... forget I said anything."

Vera nods after a moment, tilting her head in thanks. "...yeah. I’d be all right with... getting to know an uncle."


	4. Between A Rock and a Storm

Vera's return to Britain is uneventful on the surface, but the debriefings and threat assessments that follow are drawn out and thorough to the point of madness. On one level she understands it - its not every day a covert operative comes face to face with a god - but by the fifth time she's recounting exactly what happens things are really starting to wear on her. 

Eventually, however, MI6 decides that Vera has not been compromised or otherwise found to fall short, and she's returned to active duty. Weeks pass with only the most routine of assignments - the odd interrogation, a handful of break-ins, shadowing someone who turns out not to actually be anyone of real interest - and then she is pulled from the field and placed back on leave.

Vera knows the signs, know that the higher ups have a longer term assignment in the works and are making sure she doesn't have other immediate commitments... but for now, the time is hers to do with as she likes.

And she... mostly spends the time letting off some steam. At the boxing ring, from time to time. She goes clubbing, accompanies a few pretty girls for the night. She checks on Eloise- on how the mop-up went.

(She didn't tell Eloise about her mother, not yet. Soon.)

And... Heimdall gave her a phone number. To contact him, if she needs guidance. She doesn't make use of it... yet.

She also keeps in touch with the other 00 agents- her colleagues in general. She might be on leave, but she _does_ make sure to touch base from time to time, keep her skills sharp.

And... for the first time, she starts to look up others like her. Those divine-born, divine-empowered. 

She doesn't try to make contact, not just yet. But in the back of her mind, there's an increasing itch.

Fortunately... or perhaps not, given Vera's profession... information on those descended from (or chosen by) the gods is almost comically easy to lay her hands on. People love a hero, they love stories of troubled legacy and the burden of expectations, and they love to watch divinely powered men and women achieve great and terrible things. The newspapers and internet overflow with stories and videos and anecdotes concerning hundreds of different Scions across the world, many of them with their own dedicated fan groups and supported charities. 

There doesn't seem to be anything about _Vera_ yet, thankfully, but going by simple pattern recognition it may only be a matter of time.

Vera's face as she reads up on things is an increasing grimace. And she considers _how_ she's going to manage the spectre of _publicity_ , as she waits for the call to come in.

And come the call does, though thankfully this time with more warning - a properly scheduled appointment at Vauxhall Cross, with a note that various associates and specialists will be present as well for a properly comprehensive briefing.

Strangely, there is a note attached to the communique, courtesy of Penny, advising Vera to pack for a vacation somewhere warm.

Vera raises an eyebrow- dressing in her suit to actually arrive at the _meeting_ , but packing gear that'll keep her cool while still being practical. Light trousers (she is _not_ wearing shorts to a combat situation). Singlets. 

After a moment's thought, she also packs a few swimsuits, sarong... all the things you'd expect for a trip to warmer climates.

As before, the staff at Vauxhall welcome her with quiet, diligent professionalism, directing Vera to the relevant boardroom... but she cannot help but notice how some of them keep stealing glances at her from the corner of their eyes, how thoughtful some of their expressions look.

00 assignments are classified, of course, but... it seems like word gets around.

Vera returns nods, and sighs internally as she slips into the boardroom. She knew some word had gotten around- the invisible sense that her... legend was growing, even if only among a few so far. From all she'd discovered, her story growing came with more tools... but also. 

Publicity. 

The one thing a secret agent hated. Even if the 00 agents tended to attract more than most.

"Ah, there she is," M says, welcoming 009 with a polite smile as she steps inside the boardroom. The door closes behind her, cutting off all sound from the outside world, and the gaggle of other guests present in the room all crane their necks to look at her. There are twitchy technical agents, bland-looking bureaucrats with hardened eyes, and in one corner Penny with her coterie of other information specialists.

"Sit down please, double-oh-nine," M says, gesturing with one slender hand at a chair left vacant at one end of the table, "And tell us what you know about Silent Storm."

Vera sits back, humming as she recalls. "Not a great deal. They're a criminal organisation, not localised in any particular country, except... hmm. They came up while I was researching some subjects relevant to my last mission during my time off. A Band of Scions has been fighting some of their operations, so that suggests to me they have _some_ sort of connection to the mythic, but only suggests."

"More or less accurate, yes. Mr Green?" M nods to one of the hard-eyed bureaucrats, who clears his throat and sits up in his chair.

"Silent Storm got their start as a bandit gang, claiming the patronage of two divine members of the Kami, Fujin and Raijin - storm demons, essentially - for intimidation purposes," Mr Green says carefully. "Of course, when _actual_ agents of the Kami found out, they took it poorly. The whole band was conquered and forced to swear loyalty-in-service to those long-dead scions as recompense, and they've only grown from there. Mr Red knows more about their current form."

"Thank you," Mr Red, damn near identical save for the colour of his tie, takes over smoothly. "Today, Silent Storm is a hybrid organisation, combining the worst aspects of cult, criminal syndicate and corporation to create a truly global threat. They don't seem bound to any particular side in the divine conflicts, or to have any greater motive save the accumulation of wealth and power, and have demonstrated a profound willingness to pursue any means of acquiring both. Brainwashed assassins, sorcerously trained summoners, even a handful of actual Scions descended from various pantheons and brought into the fold - the list goes on. We're fairly sure they have at least one major stronghold located in Terra Incognita, which makes rooting them out in its entirety something rather beyond the means of any mortal agency, and they grow only more powerful with time."

Vera's eyes narrow. "Are we planning an operation to try to root out one of these strongholds, or simply responding to one of their operations?"

"The latter, most likely," M says, waving a hand at the table and conjuring a shimmering image of a mountainous peninsula above the surface. "Recent reports have indicated that Silent Storm have established a presence in Gibraltar - there's been a string of murders among people working in the tourist industry, and word from our underworld sources is that local criminals are being pressured into signing on with a new 'supplier'. Frederick?"

One of the twitchy looking technical sorts perks up at this. "Ah, yes, we've detected the first stages of what we think is the creation of a parallel 'black' market being set up, one that defies and muscles out the existing criminal infrastructure in the region. Gibraltar makes for a perfect smuggling and trafficking hub, considering its position at the exit to the Mediterranean, so there's no end to the amount of mischief one could cause if properly embedded there."

"And, of course, it is still British territory," M points out, turning back to Vera, "And I for one dislike the thought of Her Majesty's Subjects becoming pawns of such a... distasteful organisation."

"Indeed. So. Ferret out the operation, and express displeasure, hmm?"

Vera smiles. "That should be doable, yes."

"Indeed. Since we don't know what exactly Silent Storm intend to do there, your remit for this assignment is rather more flexible than it otherwise might be," M nods, a small smile on their face. "Do try not to make me regret it, double-oh-nine."

The smile grows. "Of course."

She turns to Frederick. "I'd like any reports on if the murders are concentrated in any particular resorts or businesses."

"I'll have a full profile for you by the time you leave," the twitchy little man says, nodding his head violently.

"Your travel arrangements are those of a tourist, Miss Wolf," Penny pips up from the back of the room, "One rich and influential enough to secure a room at virtually any resort. Do let me know if you want a specific type of background."

Vera nods. "...I've got an idea for one, yes."

She hums. "Something that leaves enough wriggle-room that I can maintain the identity if I need to make contact with said Band. There's a better than even chance they'll show up, and I’d rather we _not_ trip over each other."

"Hm. I have just the thing - see me afterwards, if you would," Penny nods thoughtfully.

"Speaking of which, I do believe that's the fundamentals covered," M picks up the trail easily enough, "Feel free to consult any of the specialists here before you depart, and make an appointment with Q of course, but I trust your discretion. Good hunting, 009."

Vera narrows her eyes slightly at Penny's statement, but nods. "Thank you, M. Ill get to it."

Afterwards, she approaches Penny, tilting her head. "You said you had an idea...?"

"I do, yes," Penny nods, a pleased little smile on her face as she looks up at Vera, the rest of the room slowly filtering out through the doors, "Now, Silent Storm are quite good at doing research on potential foes or marks, and if you truly think you might run into other divine operatives its safe to say a completely false identity might not hold up very well."

Her smile turns briefly mischievous. "Fortunately, _Miss Wolff_ , you are still legally heir to exactly the kind of fortune and connections that would enable a stressed out young businesswoman to take her leisure at a Gibraltan resort on short notice."

Vera looks out the window for a moment, leaning back in her chair. "I-"

She presses her lips together. "Can't say I particularly like it. I'm not James, who seems to take pleasure in flaunting the _idea_ of cover sometimes. And I'm looking at... I'm not going to be able to avoid notice forever, Penny. I've been doing my research, and it's so _easy_ to find information about most Scions. And this leaves me-"

The agent pauses. Breathes out. "Leaves me feeling exposed."

"Oh, Vera," Penny sighs, but in a sympathetic sort of way. "I sympathise. I can't really say I know what it's like, at least not from personal experience, but I know very well how people like you tend to draw the eye. God knows I've signed up to enough fansites to get a general idea... for research purposes, of course."

Vera looks at her for a moment, an eyebrow raised. 

'Research purposes'. 

"Mmm. But..."

She pauses for a moment longer. "If you think it's the best option, I'll go for it."

"Call it the least bad, perhaps," Penny offers, "For cover purposes it works well, and for broader reasons... if fame _is_ inevitable, then you have an opportunity here to start shaping what that famous face looks like. Get ahead of the curve, hit the ground running... you can think of a few more slogans, I'm sure."

"True. Might be a cover I end up revisiting a fair bit. Well, in that case... I'd better get moving, shouldn't I?"

-/-

Gibraltar has an airport - not an especially large one, given the size limitations of the peninsula, but enough for a chartered flight to carry Vera straight there from London. Stepping off the plane, she is hit by what feels like a solid wall of heat and humidity, the Mediterranean weather on full display.

"Miss Wolff," says a neatly uniformed woman at the bottom of the step-ramps, her ink-black hair pulled back in a professional bun and her buttons gleaming in the sun, "Welcome to Gibraltar. My name is Maria, and I work for the Sunborn hotel as a chauffer. I am at your disposal for the duration of your stay."

"Thank you, Maria."

Vera... doesn’t look _too_ appreciatively at Maria. The chauffeur, after all, isn’t here to chat. Dressed in a pair of light trousers and a tank-top, Vera’s weapons are stowed in her bags as she hops in. "Can you recommend any attractions in particular?"

"The Rock has a number of good hiking trails if you are in an active mood," Maria says politely as she settles herself behind the wheel of the hotel car, "And there are of course a number of excellent beaches. Beyond that, many patrons like to take advantage of the many varied casinos and other establishments along the coast."

"What's the night-scene like? And, hmm, resort services?"

"There are a great many different clubs, studios and other such features of the nightlife," Maria says, guiding the car onto the exit road, "However, the management advises you to stick to a shortlist, especially after dark. There have been certain incidents of late in the rougher areas that we cannot in good conscience advise risking, at least until the police have finished their work."

"Oh? Anything I should be concerned about?"

"I wouldn't say so, ma'am," the chauffer replies immediately, "You seem a sensible woman, so I don't imagine it will come up."

Vera hums, her questions continuing in a similar manner- as she tries to get Maria to open up a bit, to give her something more specific- and to find out if the Silent Storm have already started peddling illegal services of any kind to residents of the Sunborn.

The incidents are freely clarified as what happens when people go around at night drunk and unescorted, and though Maria is vague on the details Vera can put it together with the reports she has from MI6 that many of the 'random muggings' were likely calculated hits, while several kidnapped tourists will likely resurface once Silent Storm has collected its ransom money... or found another use for their new cargo.

The Sunborn, meanwhile, prides itself on exclusivity and quality, things they are unwilling to openly risk by breaching the law... in public, at least. There are, apparently, 'private games' held every so often in the casino or in adjacent rooms, where one can benefit from a range of services not typically offered to most clientele. The floorboss at the casino is the one to speak to about such things, apparently.

Vera hums. "Thank you, Maria. I’ll let you know if I need to go anywhere, once I’ve gotten myself settled in."

"Of course, miss," her chauffer says, as they pull up outside the hotel, "I hope you enjoy your stay."

The Sunborn is, it seems, a waterfront property that got somewhat overambitious, stretching so far out over the waves that it had to find means to actually _float_ a substantial portion of its structure on the waves. Vera isn't not quite sure whether it was an actual yacht that was built into the dock or simply constructed in the general shape of one, but the effect is striking all the same, and the swarms of neatly dressed men and women that staff it certainly provide the right air.

Vera gets settled into her room rather quickly- and, after a moment's thought, decides to.., enjoy the sights. Soon enough she emerges, in a bikini, sarong, and sunglasses, and spends her first day exploring the comforts of the ship- sunbathing on the roof next to the pool, taking a swim, and flirting with more than a few of the other single women present- never enough to make anyone _uncomfortable_ , but enough to establish a persona. 

Because she's also studying the ship carefully. How careful are the crew, does she get subtly steered away from any sections that wouldn’t normally be restricted as she explores.

The crew, by and large, are about as careful as one would expect of anyone working in a service industry for clientele so far above them in wealth and power as to be all but untouchable. They are polite and deferential and make full use of the expected bounds of propriety and etiquette to protect themselves, with the notable exception of a tiny handful - the tall tattooed man who runs the casino floor, the african lady who serves as head concierge, the tiny japanese woman who works as a maid. All of them have the quiet, focused and yet vaguely contemptuous air of people who answer to a higher calling, whose power and influence stems from something more than a simple job at a hotel.

All of them smell faintly of sea-salt and ozone; distant echoes of real power, imprinted by long exposure.

Such is not the only evidence of supernatural involvement in the hotel. There are halls Vera finds herself skipping without meaning to, doors she dismisses as obviously unimportant, reserved areas that cause a twist of nervousness in her gut whenever she thinks of venturing near them uninvited. The public areas, by contrast, are warm and inviting and seem to spark thoughts of hunger and indulgence more often than they should - Vera's flirting brings a readier response from many, and many of her fellow guests are drinking and dancing and taking full advantage of the facilities with an almost hedonistic abandon.

Vera hums, toning things _down_ a notch. She isn't very interested in a night with someone under the influence... especially not this kind. She decided not to challenge the wards _now_ \- but instead, she makes for the casino that evening, clad now in a short black dress. And repeats her performance, trying to see how many people are heading for the private rooms.

The casino is a popular establishment, where guests win big and lose just enough to sting on a variety of card games, rounds of dice and the ever-popular roulettes. Laughter and curses and half-intended prayers wrap around her as she makes her way across the floor, sampling each in turn... and keeping an eye on the others doing the same.

The casino boss is Chinese, Vera thinks, with elegant tattoos of green and blue mostly covered up by his suit (generally, Vera remembers, a considered a sign of gang affiliation in China and Japan). He keeps a practiced eye on the clientele, looking... not for those winning big or losing badly, so much as those who seem almost bored or frustrated, those who want more than these petty indulgences can satisfy. These he approaches, and after a quiet conversation guides to one of the many 'VIP' rooms off to the side of the casino floor, each watched over by uniformed security and fitted with soundproof doors. 

She sees perhaps half a dozen selected for such elevated treatment over the course of the early evening, with two more ushered straight through as returning patrons. A minority of the guests, certainly, but a notable number all the same.

That done, Vera hums, starting to take part in the activities- not trying to win or to lose, but to hit the sweet spot- of looking like it's _boring_ her.

The blood is in the water, and soon enough the shark comes sniffing.

"Miss Wolff," says the tattooed man, all but materialising at her shoulder as she hesitates in between a series of different card tables, "Forgive me for being forwards, but are our services not quite meeting your expectations?"

"Mmmm. The games are fun enough, but a little _dull_ , you know?"

Vera tilts her head. "Did you have a suggestion?"

"We _do_ have other options, for those of a more discerning taste," the boss says, and his smile is a dangerous one, but its the kind of dangerous Vera knows would ignite a daring thrill in the hearts of many with the promise of the illicit. "There are games of skill with a bit more risk to them, of course... or perhaps you would prefer a round with some more pleasant company, or proper lubrication?"

"Hmmm. Some more pleasant company sounds nice... although I'm also curious what sort of risk you're talking about, I must admit...."

"Right this way, ma'am," the boss says, still smiling, as he escorts her to one of the doors off to the side of the casino floor. "On the main floor we insist that guests wager chips issued by the house, but for private games we relax those rules a little; each will have its own rules on what to wager, as decided on by the guests themselves in most cases."

The door seals behind Vera, cutting out the general bustle of the casino floor, and she finds herself in a luxurious antechamber beyond. Red silk curtains hang on the wall and frame works of art that run towards rather more daring topics, while branching corridors offer myriad doors and suites labelled for such purposes. 

In the middle of the room there is a fountain, and all around in longue a number of beautiful women decorated with jewellery and a variety of exotic costumes. Vera sees elegant evening dresses and silk-string bikinis, tightly cut versions of the main hotel uniform and outfits saved from being obscene by valiant strips of silk, all worn by women who seem to know and revel in exactly what kind of effect it would have on those who look at them.

"Our girls would be happy to explain the details, or provide for any of your other needs," the boss says with a suggestive smile, "Please, pick one. Or two, if you're feeling ambitious."

Vera bites her lip, letting a mask of nervousness show, a moment before she approaches a pair of women, both wearing bikinis- both... from the south of Spain, she thinks. "Good evening, ladies. Would you mind giving me the pleasure of your company? And, perhaps, point me towards some of the games looking for... companionship of some kind? Oh. And, um, explain the- what sort of limits are there to what can be better here."

It’s all an act, of course. But a careful one. Trying to get some information as she 'stumbles' over her questions.

"Good evening, miss," the first of her choices says, her voice all but a purr as she stands and sashays towards Vera. "My name is Valentina."

"And I am Micaela," the second adds, slipping in to wrap an arm around Vera's waist as she leans against her side, "We'd be _delighted_ to accompany you."

"There are all kinds of games being run here," Valentina explains, sliding in on the agent's other side until Vera feels almost trapped between them, "and the only limits are those you feel comfortable with. Some like to bet a kiss, some a bit more..."

"Some wager us on their behalf," Micaela whispers, her breath hot against Vera's ear, "Those who like to watch..."

"Oh. Would you be willing? To be... wagered like that?"

Vera lets the flush from arousal show, masking it as embarrassment.

"Mm... only if you ask nicely," Valentina replies, and Vera's being guided down the nearest corridor, a door opening up ahead of them to reveal a table already surrounded by men and women enjoying a game, each accompanied by beautiful and indulging partners. 

"Now, miss, just relax. You're here to have fun, after all..."

"Oh, of course..."

Vera smiles. "Might ask if you have anything available- for later. I think I want you two all to myself later if the cards turn out right..."


	5. The Storm That Must Be Silenced

Morning finds Vera back in her room, the rising sun of the Mediterranean sea pouring golden light across an endless profusion of tangled sheets, empty bottles and gently slumbering bodies. The air smells of perfume and sex, and the faint hum of the air conditioning is the only sound to be heard.

It is movement that wakes her, slow and quiet, and when Vera opens an eye she sees Valentina carefully picking her way across the room, gathering up her discarded garments. Micaela yet slumbers in the bed by Vera's side, her dark hair mussed and strewn across the bedsheets like a silken banner, but from the faint noises she makes Vera think she too will rise soon enough.

Both played their role to perfection last night - and Vera is not so blind as to miss that it was a role, a wonderful gift for guests of the Silent Storm that they might let their guard down and perhaps compromise themselves in the process. But are they solely tools, ignorant of the greater games at play, or something more?

Vera sits up, an eye following Valentina as she gently pats Micaela on the shoulder. Relaxed, but alert (she checks her suitcase- still locked, good). "Mmmm. That was a pleasurable night. How'd you come to Gibraltar, if I can ask?"

An innocent question- but it's a lead in. Vera starts asking probing questions in the guise of innocence, carefully probing how much the pair _knows_ about what's going on while feigning innocence.

"We're Spanish, honey," Valentina says with a soft laugh, winking at Vera as she continues to gather up her clothes, "We walked."

"Val," Micaela murmurs softly from the bed, "Don't be mean."

"Ay, such a softie," Valentina replies, smiling down at the other woman, "Alright, then. A lot of girls take work across the border, especially if they're not from better starts, yeah? Life of glitz and glamour in the hotels, pretty people from around the world to entertain... it's not a bad life."

"The bosses pay well," Micaela purrs, stretching slowly on the bed in a very distracting sort of way, "And they take care of _all_ our old problems..."

From there, the story slowly comes out. Val and Micaela are both from poorer parts of Spain, and when the Storm found them they were increasingly debt-bound and tied up with the various petty gangs and criminal enterprises of their hometown. Vera suspects the syndicate probably moved against those other organisations for reasons of its own, and saw no reason not to repurpose some of their 'assets' at the same time.

From there its a fairly smooth progression - they were brought to Gibraltar, given papers and a residence and various other benefits, and employed as high-profile escorts and prostitutes. Setting business partners at ease, listening in on pillow talk, perhaps going with some of those luminaries as a 'wife' that remembers her benefactors... its not human trafficking, technically, but it could so very easily become so, especially if either of them objected to some of the 'requests' their employers gave them.

Vera keeps the scowl off her face. It's honestly a problem as old as time, and if people said it didn't happen on the Isles themselves they were fools. It wasn't Val or Mica's fault, though. Not by a long shot, and showing too much displeasure would blow her cover in any case. "Mmmm."

She dresses herself as she considers. "Have you ever met the bosses yourselves?"

"Once or twice, but they don't normally come to the hotels," Valentina says with a shrug. 

"Well, there was Mister Lu," Micaela says thoughtfully, "He hired us for the party at Green Visions that one time, seemed pretty important."

"Oh?"

Vera stretches almost casually, but her mind's sharp, taking everything down.

"It's just- got the ticket here as part of a pitch. Thought I'd ask a bit about the bosses first from the people with the best view of them, yeah?"

The two girls exchange glances, then smile. 

"Well, that makes sense. He's nice, but I don't know if we can say anything more," Micaela offers, pulling on her top. 

"We should probably get going... but if you want us, beautiful, you know where we'll be," Valentina offers with a wink.

Vera smiles, pulling them both in for a quick kiss to the cheek. "Of course~"

—/—

In the old days, Vera would have had very little support. These days, however. These days, it’s easy to find a private spot, in a bustling cafe where very few people will pay attention to a conversation. Vera sits back, dressed simply, tapping away at a laptop, as she places a call to a certain secretary. "Penny! It's Vera, Gibraltar is _lovely_."

She hums after the pleasantries, and making sure it seems like any other maybe business related call. "Could you run a bit of a search for me? On a Mister Lu, don’t have his first name."

"Ah, Miss Wolff, lovely to hear from you," Penny answers the call on the second ring, prim and proper and efficient as always, "You'll be delighted to hear that London is utterly miserable. This is our third straight day of rain."

There is a brief flurry of clicking in the background. "Mister Lu... hmm, a fairly common name - Mandarin for Green, often employed as an alias or nom-de-guerre by those wishing to avoid greater scrutiny. Do you have any context for me?"

"He...hired was their word... the girls I was questioning for a party at... Green Visions, and he’s the one point of _direct_ contact they’ve had with anyone higher-up. At least, what I was able to gather so far."

"I'll see what I can do," Penny says in a tone of perfect sincerity, "After all, we'd hate for your no-doubt vigorous and in-depth questioning to go to waste."

"Very funny. At least they were willing participants... with the qualifier of ‘as far as these things go'."

Vera swirls the spoon in her coffee, humming. "That’s my preliminary stuff, anyways. Considering my options to get more information, not much else to report."

"Well, I'm glad someone appreciates my sense of humour. You wouldn't believe how dreary some of these people are," Penny comments, her fingers clicking away at the keyboard in the background, "Ah, here we are. Mister Ying Wu, a businessman from China. Green Visions is his company, they have an office in Gibraltar it seems, focusing on renewable energy and other 'innovative solutions to the challenge facing the modern world'. Not marked as being of interest, but given your report we may have to change that."

"Hmm. I might pay a _visit_ to his offices, then... thanks for the help, Penny."

"Glad to be of service, Miss Wolff."

-/-

Green Visions, it seems, is not a company large enough to command an entire office block to itself. Instead it claims the thirteenth and fourteenth floors of a large, glass-plated monolith called 'The Apex Plaza' near the southern tip of Gibralter, where companies can get themselves a lovely view of the Mediterranean while taking advantage of the territory's unusual tax incentives.

The reception is a large, open-plan space with marble flooring and an abundance of potted plants, dominated by a central desk with half a dozen uniformed staff and a far wall lined with gleaming steel elevators. There are perhaps a dozen other men and women present when Vera enters, employees and visitors alike, and they are all paying attention to the same thing. 

At the front of the queue, leaning over the desk and smiling oh-so prettily at the security guard who is meant to be watching the camera feeds, is the single most beautiful woman Vera has ever seen. Her silken hair is the colour of night, her skin the soft dark brown of the middle east, and one glimpse of her body (modesty just barely preserved by a black bikini and blood-red summer skirt) is enough to fill the mind with visions of lust and adoration.

The air hums with the sound and smell of some distant bazaar, spice and silk and the sizzle of clay baking beneath the hot summer sun.

Vera sniffs the air, dressed in a white shirt and black pants. She tilts her head. 

Well, now. That is- a _distraction_ if Vera ever saw one. This is likely one of the group Vera had researched about- the Band going against the Storm. 

Subtlety, apparently, was not their strong suit. Vera wanders right by, quite deliberately, leaning against the door into more... _restricted_ areas, and giving the woman a wave as she notices the one person unaffected by her spell. 

There's a limit to how clear Vera can make the message, at least without communications. But her intention is to try and get across that she's... not trying to _disrupt_ the goals of this woman. Might even be open to an alliance.

The woman shoots Vera a smouldering glance - quite literally, to the point where the agent feels her skin heat when the woman looks, and oh does she _look_ \- but she says nothing, merely turning her attention back to the poor spellbound security guard currently hanging on her every word.

On the thirteenth floor Vera finds the offices of Green Vision, an almost boringly mundane vision of corporate aesthetic. Rows of desks and office equipment cover the bulk of the floor, while glass-walled offices on the walls are reserved for those of particular importance. Motivational posters hang everywhere, all seemingly innocuous, but there is still a kind of tension in the air as she slips inside unnoticed that sets Vera's teeth on edge.

Vera slips inside, and despite her unfitting uniform- she fits in perfectly. If anyone takes note, it’s only of a new office worker, hurrying with her clipboard. She has some time, in any case- between her own gifts, and the... distraction outside, she isn’t under as many time constraints. So, she scopes things out a little. Where _is_ the CEO office, where's the secure storage area... and, just as importantly, who was the distraction for?

Who’s here and _not_ as adept at going unnoticed as her?

The CEO's office turns out to be, almost inevitably, on the second floor. A set of steps leads up to a raised balcony over the main office floor, where those of importance can quite literally look down on their subordinates. The sealed archives are up there as well, Vera thinks, in fold-out shelves hidden carefully behind tightly locked doors. And then there are the other intruders. 

It is difficult to judge how good they may or may not be at going unnoticed, because neither of them is trying to. A slightly built asian woman in a white business suit is presently standing on the middle of the room, snapping her fingers at the scurrying employees who are bringing her reports and briefing materials, while just behind her looms the ridiculously tall and broad-shouldered form of her bodyguard, who looks profoundly uncomfortable in his neatly tailored suit. 

Vera can smell cherry blossoms and sea salt, and behind them the sharp taste of ozone and burnt amber. Scions, both of them, Vera would bet her name on it.

Vera is- stunned, for a moment. It’s brazen, it’s completely attention-grabbing... and it’s the perfect cover for her to do her own information gathering. She walks up the stairs, a hand raised in silent greeting to her kin and the Japanese woman- not that they notice her either, before she makes her way to the archives, seeing if anyone is paying attention to the door.

The bodyguard leans in as Vera passes, whispering something to his bandmate - she hears 'thunderbolt' and 'running out of time' and 'Siduru' but nothing clearer. The woman just nods sharply, then dismisses the scurrying office workers and follows Vera up the stairs... no, she's heading for the CEO's office, the muscle trailing behind her.

The locks on the archive almost spring open at Vera's touch, and then she's in, the shelves unfolding before her. Financial records are the first thing she finds, though why they are kept on paper and not a digital file is another question... regardless, a full accounting of Green Vision's income and expenditures for the last quarter, doubtless overflowing with potential intelligence once properly analysed.

Vera takes pictures on her phone of as much as she can. The reason why they're on paper seems fairly simple to her-

Digital is more easily extracted. But she’s good at this, at least. She focuses in on the files revealing what will hurt the Storm most to hit... without killing civilians. 

This is Her Majesty's territory. Even if it wasn’t, that sort of collateral isn’t something to seek out. That done, Vera makes her exit from the archive room, before making her way to the CEO's office, entering behind the two fellow Scions. "Well. You three don’t seem the sort for subtlety."

She pauses, breathing out. "Vera Wolff. Heimdall can vouch for me, if you need it."

Vera _does_ have the God on speed-dial, after all. "I think we've got a mutual enemy here in Gibraltar."

The woman in the white suit scarcely even looks up, save for a brief glance and a thoughtful hum. She's too busy tapping away at the computer on the CEO's desk, frowning at whatever it is she has uncovered there. 

The big man - and he really _is_ big, looming over Vera like a mountain with a beard - lets his hand rest on the grip of an absurdly oversized pistol for a moment as he looks at her. Then he grunts. "You'll have to forgive me for not taking your word on that, ma'am. The people we're after are _very_ good at putting a nice face on the foulest possible things."

"Mmm. Well aware. Especially given our respective parent's, uh- _histories_."

Vera tilts her head. " _And_ I’m aware of what the Silent Storm do. I’ve been here for a day and already don’t much like what I see. They’re trying to snare the rich and famous in their resorts- the Sunborn, place I’m staying? It's got enchantments on it, lowering inhibitions, which the Storm are happy to take advantage of. They’re making it look nice, but like you said. You can see the foulness."

She doesn’t lie. She doesn’t _need_ to. "Like I said, though. No need to take my word on it."

Vera holds up her phone. "Heimdall decided to act as a guide to me. I can give him a call and he can vouch for me."

"A guide, huh?" The big man frowns, his expression sour, "Must be nice."

"Oh, put a stocking in it Eric," the Japanese woman speaks up, plugging a small thumb-drive into the computer, "I'll have what we need in just a moment, and we can talk about this later. Now..."

There is, in the distance, the faint ding of the lift doors opening. Then another, and another, following swiftly by a tide of nervous whispering from the office workers down below.

Vera looks at the big man in sympathy, but at the dings her expression shifts. "Don’t think you've got much time. I can get myself in position to hit the company we've got from behind, give you room to extract."

"Let me prove myself with action, hmm?"

"No finer way," Eric says, drawing the oversized pistol and moving to the door of the office, "Hinata, call Siduru, we're about to go loud."

Slipping out the door, Vera finds it easy to see what has caused the disturbance. Half a dozen men and women have just stepped out of the lifts, each one neatly attired in sharp-pressed suits and wearing sunglasses that hide their eyes from view. Each carries a _sword_ of all things, sheathed carefully by their side, and they move into the room with the kind of smooth confidence and coordination she's only otherwise seen in special forces operatives.

Vera slips out, her steps sure as she makes her way through the crowd- stepping around the goons. 

She draws her own pistol- a small, silenced affair as opposed to the _hand cannon_ that... Eric, was it? Carries.

And with her other hand, she draws the knife-fang, Bróthurtonn. Fenris' tooth, willingly given. 

Still, however- she's made no move of violence. She still goes unnoticed. 

She nods up to Eric.

"Evening, fellas," Eric calls out, and his voice has a low drawling accent to it that immediately places him as an American, "Any chance you lot are open to negotiation?"

The six - or is it seven, or eight? They seem to blend together somehow, the eye sliding from one to the next - draw their swords without a word, polished steel sliding free of the sheathes without so much as a whisper. The crowd of office workers are considerably less sanguine, already fleeing for the exits as fast as they can move.

"That'll be a no then. Shame."

And with a roar like thunder, the Scion opens fire.

And- behind them, another pistol opens up, this one quieter. Two bullets hit the back of one of the swordswomen, as Vera's eyes are hard and piercing.

The swordsman staggers, but doesn't cry out, or indeed show any sign of pain. He turns, stiffly, and as most of the group rush up the stairs towards the giant redhead at the top a second breaks off to help her injured comrade deal with Vera. 

They come at her in a rush, swords gleaming in the sunlight that streams in through the windows.

And Vera crouches to meet them, her expression cold and her teeth almost-bared.

The swords flash and flicker, but sbe remain out of reach, fending each off in turn

Vera's knife flickers out, deflecting the blows, unbalancing the swordsman-

And then, her pistol rises, another two turning two opponents to one, as she executes a perfect double-tap on the male of the pair attacking her.

Above, the booming of Eric's hand cannon shakes the walls, followed a moment later by the horrific crunching noise of someone getting hit by a fist backed by all the momentum of a runaway truck. 

Vera scarcely has time for such things, however, as the woman in the suit merely narrows her eyes and presses her assault against her. Vera can see her eyes behind the glasses, see the faint gleam of lightning reflected back at her. Just how much awareness does she even have?

The sword flickers out, faster this time, and though the agent draws back it still scores a thin cut across her brow... which begins to bleed profusely, threatening to blind Vera. The swordswoman smiles faintly, satisfied, and her expression only grows as the faint _ding_ of the lift sounds once more...

" **Behold thy end, worms! Woe unto you and all that you serve, for death walks among you!** "

The woman from the lobby emerges, her blood-red skirt billowing around her in a wind that seemingly exists for no other, and somehow the blood splattered across her lithe and muscular form merely accentuates her beauty. In one hand she holds a sword that glows with hidden fire, and in the other a severed head.

Hmmm. That isn’t exactly a good thing for the thugs, is it. 

In the moment of distraction, Vera, uncaring of the injury she's just gotten, drives in lightning-quick like a wolf. And the Brother's Tooth buries itself in the woman's chest.

From there, the battle is almost perfunctory. Eric is a walking monolith of muscle and tightly leashed rage, smashing foes aside or placing pinpoint shots from his hand-cannon into them, while the newly arrived swordswoman dances across the improvised battlefield with an ethereal grace, reaping hearts and lives with a laugh. Vera sees no sign of Hinata, but her presence is hardly required, not when the agent, the Wolf-Sister, is there to pick off those who let themselves get distracted or take their eyes off of hert\\.

These operatives, these acolytes of the Silent Storm, they are exceedingly dangerous. They fight with skill and coordination, with a speed and strength that belies some kind of supernatural enhancement, utterly without fear... but against three Scions, they are outmatched, and soon enough nothing moves in the room save the Scions. 

"Ah, the thrill of battle," the bikini-clad woman says with a laugh, tossing a severed head aside, "How it makes the heart sing."

"Yeah, well, either we leave now or it'll be sirens singing next," Eric grunts, holstering his gun before looking at Vera, "You got a way out, cousin, or you want to come with?"

Vera tilts her head, then nods. "I’ll come with you. Probably been made as far as the Sunborn goes, after all, or close enough, and what's still there isn't important."

"Very well then," Hinata says, emerging from the office now that the violence is over and beckoning for all of them to approach, "Let us be about this. Siduru, the window please."

The dark-skinned woman swings her sword and the entire window collapses... though Vera notices that all of the glass falls _into_ the room, rather than out where it could hurt someone far below. Hinata reaches out and takes everyone by the hands, smiling politely.

"Let us depart."

There is a blaze of light, the full force of the midday sun beating down upon them... and they are elsewhere.


	6. The Quiet Eye

Light is everywhere, turning the whole world to gold and white, and when it fades Vera finds herself no longer in the corporate offices of Green Visions but rather on the deck of a ship. A yacht, actually, judging by comfortable seats and the jacuzzi on the rear deck, the kind that only the truly wealthy can ever hope to lay their hands on.

"Welcome back, Saitou-sama," a young japanese man in a neatly tailored uniform says politely, bowing to Hinata as she releases the other Scions' hands and steps away from the group, "Your mission was a success, one hopes."

"One hopes, though proper analysis will confirm," Hinata says absently, rolling the small thumb drive between her fingers, "Have the equipment prepared please, Tachi-san."

The young man bows once more and then departs, leaving Hinata to turn back to Vera. "This is my yacht, the _Setting Sun_. I understand your own arrangements may have been compromised, Miss Wolff - in which case, I should be pleased to offer you my hospitality for the intervening time."

"Mmm. Most likely, yes."

Vera does a quick scan of the surrounding area- looking to see if they're still in Gibraltar- but less concerned, with the offer of hospitality. "Fortunately, what I was able to bring into Gibraltar for when things moved to investigation to more... direct parts of things _isn't_ on the Sunborn. I'd be honoured to accept your hospitality, miss Saitou."

They are indeed still in Gibraltar - indeed, now that Vera looks, she thinks she can see the looming glass monolith of the building they came from, clearly visible among the city skyline. The _Setting Sun_ sits just off-shore, and with the arrival of her owner confirmed is now slowly relocating. The teleport effect, Vera guesses, must have taken them in a straight line from there to here. 

"I wish to _bathe_ ," Siduru says with a grin as she saunters over to a small group of other crewmen, having thankfully discarded the severed head before their departure, "Boys, someone get me a towel and hot oils, my muscles are _tragically_ in need of a massage."

"Yeah, she'll kill anyone who interrupts, I reckon," Eric the red-headed giant (easily the tallest person here by a good foot or more, it feels) sighs, before shrugging and turning to Vera, "Hinata will probably be busy for a bit, so I can show you around?"

The agent considers for a moment... but then, she nods. "Yeah, of course."

She sticks her hand in one pocket, pulling out a pair of sunglasses and slipping them on. "Been a guest on these before, but each one has its own particular _quirks_. So, good to know where everything is."

"I'll take your word for it," Eric says with a politely noncommittal smile, "My family was always more working-class."

Indeed, that heritage shines through as he shows Vera around - the bedrooms, the lounge, the technical suite and more, all explained and introduced with the kind of perfunctory awkwardness of a man with precisely no knowledge of how exactly they might compare to others she's experienced, but who is determined to be a polite host anyway. The only time he seems more enthusiastic is when he indicates the door to the engine room.

"Hinata doesn't much like folks poking around down there," he says with a broad smile, his rural-American accent shining through, "But I reckon she won't complain about the extra mileage she got from my work, now will she?"

Vera nods at him, trading polite words. And willing to let him know that some of these comforts were out of _her_ general experience, as well. 

When they reach the engine room, she smiles. "I imagine not."

Vera looks up at Eric, raising an eyebrow. "I admit I’m curious- you three seem very different. How'd you end up working together?"

"Friend of a friend, you know how it goes," Eric shrugs, leaning back against the wall. He looks like he wants to hook his thumbs through the belt loops, but his current suit is in no way suited for that, so instead he just cross his arms. "Hinata's the one who brought us all together, this Storm thing is real personal for her - I didn't ask the details but its pretty clearly a major grudge. Anyway, friend I know helped me out with some Loki-spawn plot at one point, I owed her a favour, she traded it to Hinata on account of how the lady needed some muscle."

He works his jaw for a moment, deep in thought. "Never did figure out how Sid got involved, but I think they met through the divine side of things. Girl's from some kind of cult, I reckon."

Vera _visibly_ winces at the mention of 'Loki-spawn plot'. "Wouldn't... entirely surprise me, from the way she acts. I don’t know a _lot_ about how Bands form. relatively new to... all this, honestly. Only found out about my parentage last year."

"Oh, really?" Eric blinks, then rubs the back of his head in a slightly bashful fashion, "Sorry, you looked... uh, you seemed to be handling things pretty confidently, so I sort of assumed you knew all this already."

Vera blinks, then waves her hand. "I did a lot of travelling, a lot of working out- family issues. The company, that was father's, I’ve always been rather hands off. I’m mostly applying some of the stuff I learnt during those travels. But... no. Found out about my parentage, mother drops a knife from a brother I never knew I had in my lap. And then they more or less bugger off, leave me to fend for myself until Heimdall decided to introduce himself."

Vera's tone is distinctly _bitter_ for a moment. "So. Yes, as far as time as a _Scion_ goes... you're most likely all relative seniors to me _there_. But the skills themselves... they come naturally, I’ve found."

"Like you were born for it."

"Ah," Eric nods seriously, "This feels like a talk to have somewhere better than a hallway outside the engineering room. Let's get some drinks and go find somewhere with a decent view."

"Yeah. I think it is. Lead the way, then."

There is a minor detour en route, when Eric stops by his room aboard the yacht to get changed. When he emerges in faded jeans and an oil-stained t-shirt, Vera can't help but notice how much more comfortable he seems... even if the contrast with the high-class surroundings is almost painful.

"Heh. More comfortable in your own skin, hmm?"

Vera herself doesn't change her clothes, but she does take the opportunity to finish mopping up the blood from the cut... with the help of the yacht medical team.

She tilts her head. "I get that."

"Yeah, the suit and tails look was never really _me_ ," Eric shakes his head, hoisting an icebox filled with glass bottles casually under one arm, "Always made me feel like a tame gorilla, you know? Like some big old fella someone keeps around to beat people up. Wore one for my graduation, and to funerals, but that's about all I can stomach."

The two of them leave the ship, but perhaps in deference to the ongoing investigation, stay within Gibraltar's sprawling docklands. Instead they wander a short distance until they find an unoccupied pier, and at the very end of it find a comfortable enough place to sit and talk with the wind in their hair and the shining jewel of the Mediterranean spread out before them.

"So, you said you found out about your parentage last year?" Eric offers, opening the icebox and sorting through the drinks within, none of which are fit for a corporate princess' table, "It can be a rough time, for any of us. Especially if you grew up with a gap in your life because of it."

Vera sits, cracking open a beer. "Mmm. I was an _angry_ child and teenager. Father had to field... a _lot_ of calls about me from school. Which didn’t help things any."

She sips from the can. "And as for mother... did... I’m _assuming_ Thor, from the hair... stick around?"

"Ha. No," Eric shakes his head, opening a bottle and taking a long swig of the contents, "No, mom raised me by herself 'til she died, and then gramps took over 'til _he_ died. Was only a couple of years after that I found out who the big guy with red hair in the photo was."

He looks over at you and grins. "So, you were a problem student, then? We talking brawls in the yard and cherry bombs in the toilet, or something more?"

"Not cherry bombs. But I was _absolutely_ the one girl who'd get into fistfights, a _lot_. Unleashed upon posh English boarding schools."

Vera sips her beer. "The carnage was legendary. Loki was... much the same for me, except father didn’t even keep pictures. I don’t think he expected it to have any... outcome. And... well."

She sips again, figuring out how to word it. "I actually meant after, uh- after he showed up and told you what you were. His kid, I mean."

"...wait your mom is _Loki?_ " Eric blinks, frowning at Vera for a moment. "Huh. Wouldn't have figured."

Vera raises her beer. "Yup. Turned up when I’d gotten myself into- okay, a _lot_ of trouble. Saved my life, turned the people threatening me in on themselves, destroyed them without laying a finger on them. Handed me a knife- ‘from your brother, willingly given, and oh, I’m Loki.’"

"Then, they left. Not much more information than that. What else I’ve gathered has mostly been through mundane views on the divine and on Scions."

"Heimdall talked to me a bit about it but- truth be told, he was more busy being the first actual family to really talk to me."

"Hey, well, you're two gods ahead of me then," Eric shakes his head, "I found out from my gramps' ghost and two real smart-alec ravens."

"Ah. Hope you do get to meet him someday."

Vera sips. "I’m assuming from your reaction- my other siblings you might've run into are... closer to the tree, shall we say?"

"Hmm, some are," Eric shakes his head, finishing the bottle and carefully setting the empty back in the box. "I've known three of Loki's kids in my time. One was a fencer, real smooth guy from the underground. Another was a dumb kid from the wrong side of the tracks, in too deep to get out. Both of them have messed me around pretty badly before, and most folks who cross paths with one of your family will have a similar story."

He takes another bottle, but does not open it, instead squinting at the waves rolling in from the sea with a contemplative sort of expression. "The _third_ is a guy called Hassan, Iraqi who moved to New York after, well. Him, I owe my life to. So do a lot of other folks at that - man's a doctor, one of the very best, though he's driving cabs right now."

"Some kind of meaning in that, though I'd be a fool to claim I could tell you what it was."

"Parents influence us, but we can choose our own path would be my guess."

"As good as any other lesson to take, I suppose," Eric shrugs, "I'm not much one for big narratives and universal morals, myself. Just here to help folks out where I can. The Storm are a nasty piece of work, so I reckon helping kick them out of this place is a good deed no matter the bigger picture. You don't strike me as nearly so straightforward, though."

"Not quite, no."

Vera considers. "Made a few contacts in my time before finding out about mother. When an employee of father's company was threatened here by agents of the Storm- they helped point me in the right direction to go looking."

Truth, even if the order of events was a bit skewed- Vera found out about that incident after her assignment.

"Seems to be a pattern, yeah," Eric nods, "Never once met a child of the gods who'd be fine sitting around on their butt when they could be out there doing something. Now what that something is might change, but that's more a personal question than most like to tell."

"I suspect the ones willing to live a quiet life never meet their parents..."

Vera considers. "Or patrons, I suppose, from what I have found. We certainly don’t seem to lack for..."

She grimaces. " _Fans_."

"There's a lot out there."

"Mm. Well, you do impressive things, people start caring about you," Eric shrugs, "Seems pretty natural to me."

There is a faint buzzing sound, and he grimaces and fishes a phone from his pocket. "Ah, looks like Hinata has done the initial processing. She's pretty good at this kind of organising - guess she probably got lessons on it."

"Probably, yes. I’ve got a fair amount from the secure archives on my phone and memorised, so I might be able to add some more."

Vera rises, and nods to Eric... having only consumed one can, total. "Don’t want to get _completely_ sloshed on the job, but after all this, I'd be fine with doing this again, if you want."

"Hah. You just need to learn to hold your liquor," Eric says with a decisive nod, and despite the amount he's drunk he seems entirely unaffected. "Anyway, let's get back, see what she's found. Oh, and uh, watch out around Sid. She'll probably try something, though whether that's a challenge to a duel or an invite to her bed is an open question."

"Honestly if I wasn’t fairly certain we'd both be fighting over who's in charge.."

Vera considers. "...actually, no, that's not actually a dealbreaker. But I’ll keep an eye out. Who's she a Scion _of_ , out of interest, more specifically than..."

Vera hums. "My nose wants to say the Annuana?"

"Ishtar, I think," Eric nods, ambling back along the pier at Vera's side, "though I was never that hot on foreign cultures and faiths. Raised in a... well, isolated mountain village, prepped for service from the day she was born, so pretty much like a cult. Seems nice enough, though, even after Hinata and I both turned her down."

"Yeah. Hm. I’ve some knowledge but not much of them."

Vera keeps certain tidbits she remembers from the Epic to herself, as they head back to the others.

The small group reconvenes at the yacht, specifically at what appears to be a moderately cramped but luxuriously appointed conference room at its heart. There is a projector, a laminated desk of some expensive wood, and comfortable leather chairs. 

"Ah, the two norselings return!" Siduru declares with a wave from her seat, and while she is technically more properly dressed now than when they parted Vera is... fairly sure that shirt isn't actually hers. "You've finished unburdening your hearts of all their angst and woe, then?"

" _Something_ like that, yes."

Vera's tone is dry, before she looks at Hinata. "If you need more info, I had a good look at the secure storage room- and one where they don’t know _what_ I got, since I didn’t actually take the files, just pictures of them."

"I would appreciate that," Hinata replies, still immaculate in her suit of crisply laundered white, looking none the worse for a covert raid and ensuing firefight scarcely an hour past. "I assume from your remarks that you wish to help us in our current mission of removing the Silent Storm presence in Gibraltar?"

"Absolutely, yes. With prejudice."

Vera hums, holding up her phone. "Just give me a printer I can hook this up to and I’ll get these printed out."

"In the meantime, what do we have already?"

Hinata directs Vera to the relevant equipment, itself contained in a little niche in the corner of the room. "Thank you."

"As for what we have already, we have determined that our greatest advantage is that Silent Storm is only recently arrived in the area," she continues after a few moments, "They are operating under the leadership of a single Thunderbolt, and have limited assets to call upon. If they are allowed to become properly established they will fight hard to retain what they have, but if repulsed with sufficient strength they will likely seek to cut their losses."

"Cowards," Siduru mutters from her chair, her eyes half-closed with a complete lack of interest.

Vera prints out the documents, listening as she nods- and reviews before handing them to Hinata. "True, but also not at all unusual for criminal operations. They're ultimately a business, at least on a certain level, even if often neither criminal organisation nor business really _like_ the comparison. They don’t have the dedicated assets here yet that they’d risk by withdrawing, so if it becomes too risky... they don’t throw more money in to lose it. Or men."

She hums. There's one quick way in her opinion, but she's new to the group, so... "Would the death of the Thunderbolt in question be enough, or would that best be coupled with other measures in your opinion?"

"Almost certainly," Hinata nods, taking the documents and looking them over, "The trick is drawing them out, since most tend to operate at a remove and with discretion."

"Breaking enough things should work," Eric offers, the seat creaking under him as he shifts position, "These guys aren't immune to peer pressure. We mess this Bolt's operations up enough, they'll need to either deal with us or let all their neighbours know that they couldn't be trusted to handle the assignment."

"And, thanks to these documents, I do believe we have an excellent list of things worth breaking," Hinata smiles, a cold and eager gleam in her eyes. "Local investments, safehouses for their agents, what I expect are bribes for certain members of the local authorities..."

Vera returns the smile- and the eager gleam. "I think I can assist with that, yes. Planning, too, I have a few ideas already..."


	7. Strike At Dawn

The Sunrise hotel has not changed much, in the short time Vera has been away. The tourists still come and go, the staff still bustle around, the air is still thick with the sound of music and revelry... and yet to a trained eye, there are yet elements out of place. Security guards stationed where there were none before, menial workers assigned in pair-groups to keep an eye on each other, a handful of events cancelled and facilities closed. 

The Silent Storm are on alert, but their caution is performative, perfunctory. This is a civilian establishment - who would strike at them here? Who would even know to try?

Vera scans at the Sunrise. It’s converted ship... which means that there's a water approach. 

Very few people, she finds, think of _that_ particular approach. Who’d be crazy enough to climb up a ladder or rope to get onto the ship when there's perfectly good bridges?

Who indeed. Which is why, of course, she, Eric, Siduru and Hinata sit in a speedboat, a few kilometres from the _Sunrise_ , and slowly approaching it. That’s not the only event that's taken place over the past two days, however. 

Yesterday, Vera placed a call to the SIS. One where she sent a list of the corrupt police officers. 

Not proof on its own- but the Storm starts getting calls. 

The police on their payroll are getting suspended, or otherwise tied up in internal affairs investigations. 

Vera turns to the others. "All right. Everyone has the maps I handed out?"

She had drawn a rough sketch of the Sunborn earlier, matching it up to publicly available diagrams- marking all the areas the spells turned her away from. "We keep together if we can but if not, pair up. Keep in contact, stay quiet unless _absolutely necessary._ This isn’t a target-rich environment, fire through a wall- or get the _guards_ to- and you may well hit a guest. Not as applicable to you, Siduru, but still, let’s avoid any sort of brawl if we can here, please."

She raises an eyebrow at Eric, with a slight smile. "If I give you a smaller pistol, will that do?"

"You know your way around this sort of thing, huh," Eric comments with a single raised eyebrow, sitting in the speedboat with the slightly ginger attitude of a man convinced it will tip over if he moves too fast, "I was just going to punch things, if we needed to be quiet."

"He is _very_ strong," Siduru confirms with a purr, a sheathed sword balanced carefully across her bare knees, "And so accommodating..."

Eric clears his throat, visibly doing his best not to blush. "I, uh, yes. Well."

"Please retain some semblance of professionalism," Hinata says with a faint sigh, "As for myself, I think it best I remain outside. I was never very good at the... what was the phrase, the 'sharp end'?"

Vera nods. "Fair. And yes, Hinata's right... we can flirt afterwards. All right, we work in three. Keep the engines idling, I don’t know how noisy getting _out_ will end up being."

She smiles slightly at Eric. "Like I said to you earlier. I did a lot of travelling. Got up to a fair few... incidents even before I found out about all this. Decided if this was what my life was going to look like, I might as well be _good_ at it."

She hums. "And, well. When you have an awful lot of money, you can afford to smuggle in some _lovely_ gadgets."

The Scion of Loki scans the ship, humming slightly, before pulling out a grappling gun. Not one of Q's offerings- this is big and clunky, a more... standard model. A far cry from the silenced P90 Vera has slung across her chest.

Regardless. She aims it, aiming for a level she remembered no guards being from scanning the ship on the way in. And fires. 

Her aim's true. The hook catches, without any real noise to give away their entrance point. Vera gives it a tug, before nodding. "All right. Me, Siduru , Eric."

And she's off, shimmying up the rope quickly. Quietly. And, as she hits the deck, she brings her gun up, scanning for any guards as she holds the area for the two Scions following her.

There are, fortunately enough, no guards present when they reach the top. The security is sloppy, but such is the inevitable consequence of a covert presence - they cannot afford to lock up tight and still be a hotel in normal operation. 

Siduru and Eric arrive a moment later, the former ascending the rope with considerably more grace than the latter. Neither bothers to crouch, though Eric does at least step over to press himself against a pillar and at least somewhat out of sight.

"Lead on, bitch," Siduru says with a smile, gesturing towards the interior. Behind her, Eric sighs.

"We both know your english is better than that," he grumbles.

Vera's lips quirk slightly in a small smile, as she starts to lead the way. She keeps herself on alert, keeping watch- and an ear out- for any guards. Her memory is good at least- she finds her way quickly and quietly towards one of the... 'restricted' areas.

They slip into the corridors of the hotel, following the map laid out in Vera's memory. There were several locations that the Silent Storm had laid wards to keep the curious away from, but the nearest is an entire floor of the hotel, swiftly accessed by slipping into the emergency stairwell and making their way to the relevant level.

"Should we not keep ascending?" Siduru asks with an air of frustration as Vera pauses, before hesitating and turning to glare at the door. "Ah. Clever trickery, but only that."

Pushing past the mental interference, Vera opens the door a crack and peer into the corridor beyond. Superficially it seems the same as any other on this level, but... ah, yes. There have been new cameras installed on the walls, keeping careful watch over the corridor. No active guards, but she'll need to do something about those in order to gain access to the rooms beyond.

"And once you've realised the trick, it becomes a signpost saying 'this is what we want to conceal'. It's made with the guests in mind. The cameras..."

Vera hums, examining the wires, and pulling a black box from her belt. Slotting it onto the wires, she holds her phone up to the box, tapping a few keys... there. "Cameras are looping, so hopefully they won’t notice anything's wrong. Let's move."

Vera quietly moves down the corridor, listening at a few doors to see if she can hear anyone she might disturb. They're unmarked, so which one is important she can’t really tell... "Pick a door, see if it opens up. No idea which one has information, so we let Fate decide."

The doors are all plain and identical, with nothing to mark one out from the other save simple numbers stenciled on the wood. And yet, beyond the silence Vera can hear the muffled echoes of conversation, several voices raised in quiet yet heated debate. 

Ah, there she has it. The third door on the right leads to some form of conference room, Vera thinks, or perhaps the antechamber to it, and it seems it is currently in use.

Vera hums. She holds up a hand, signaling for quiet. Before she places an ear against the door, closing her eyes and calling upon her brother's power.

The senses of the wolves that are her kin.

The world goes quiet, all extraneous sounds and distractions fading away into nothingness. Vera can hear the distant thrum of power cables, the serene heartbeat of Siduru at her back, the muffled echo of laughter from the casino halls far below. 

And, through walls made far too thin and flimsy to offer any real protection against eavesdroppers, the sound of a conversation in the conference room beyond the wall.

"...with all due respect, Miss Molniya, this seems like something of an over-reaction." The chinese man who runs this place, Vera thinks, his oily words and faint accent familiar after her own indulgence and investigation.

"I am not in the habit of explaining my decisions, Gao," comes the reply, sharp and cold as naked steel. There's a faint crackle behind the words - the speaker is clearly not present, patched in via conference call or video - but they do nothing to hide the slavic (or possibly russian) accent or the cold contempt in the words. "But since you are apparently too much of a fool to pick up on the obvious, let me spell it out for you. We are being hunted. Green Vision failed to secure our data, and now our enemies have a target list of every property and interest of ours in Gibraltar. Already our friends in the government are being rounded up, and I doubt it will be long before they turn their attention to your little operation."

Vera smiles. Another name, possibly faked but it still gives her something, gives _them_ something. She pauses still. Waiting, to hear what the plan actually _is_ to deal with them.

"That one branch of the tree has fallen does not justify cutting off the remainder," Gao attempts to argue, his voice rough with suppressed frustration, "What you propose will set us back weeks, perhaps even months..."

"I would rather set us back a year or ten than compromise everything by taking this threat less seriously," Molniya cuts in. Definitely Russian, Vera thinks, she's heard enough people from that country speaking English to pick up on the accent. "You _will_ comply, or I will find someone smarter to do so in your place. Move what can be moved, hide what can be hidden, and burn the rest. My hounds and I will clean up your mess."

Vera pulls back, having heard enough, she turns to the others, speaking softly- too softly to be heard, hopefully. "They're going to go scorched earth, it sounds like. And I'm not inclined to let them do that in Gibraltar."

She pauses. "How confident are you two in our ability to fight our way off this ship? _Without_ collateral damage to the passengers."

"So long as they do not get in our way, it shall be easy," Siduru murmurs, and Vera can hear her heartbeat start to race as her eyes gleam with the fervour of coming battle.

"Can always break down a wall if we need to," Eric nods seriously, "Better some property damage than they get away to strike again."

"Siduru?"

Vera nods, raising her gun. Ready for action, as she moves to one side so the Scion of Ishtar can kick the door down. "Now, then."

Siduru smiles viciously, and from seemingly nowhere at all pulls the sword Vera saw her use at Green Visions. It shines with a bloody light, and when she swings it, the door and large sections of the surrounding wall explode into broken shards.

" **Behold, vermin, for your end comes!** "

On the far side of the wall is a conference room that looks almost shockingly mundane. There is a large wooden table, a series of leather-backed chairs, cheap carpeting and a little side table with refreshments all laid out ready. More interesting, then, are the people. Vera can see Gao, the chinese pit boss with the tattoos, already rising from his seat, and next to him the african lady dressed as a maid. So too are there a small group of the same suited sword-wielding agents they encountered at the offices.

And beyond them, her image projected on the wall, is the woman they were speaking with. Tall, pale, with sapphire-blue eyes and a waterfall of rich golden hair... Vera doesn't recognise her, but from the way her eyes narrow at their entrance and she sits back to observe, she's clearly not the easily rattled type.

Vera moves in after Siduru. 

Her gun rising up, the silenced P90 puffs three times, as she unleashes a burst of fire directly at Gao's head.

Bullets stitch themselves across his face and neck, fountains of blood that send him tumbling backwards...

"Gao dan!"

And then he rises back to his feet, his face and upper body pockmarked and bloody but still, somehow, alive, and his teeth are bared in a ferocious snarl. The scent of lightning and the storm-tossed ocean grows sharper, and the pit boss' frame begins to swell, muscles bulging obscenely as he all but tears his way out of his neatly tailored suit.

"You die for that, bitch," he growls, and on his bared flesh ink of green and blue coils like a living thing, shapes of dragons and serpents and crashing waves rolling across his skin.

Around her, Siduru hurls herself at the eerily silent swordsmen with a manic laugh, while in the background Vera thinks she can hear Eric trying to convince the african woman to stand down while she threatens him with a set of jagged knives, but Vera needs all her attention for this foe.

Vera crouches down, her eyes narrowed. She paces for a few moments-

Then, she opens up again, flicking to full automatic, the P90 sending out a spray of bullets. Not particularly high-powered, but she's accurate even with the gun kicking against her.

Gao roars, and with one meaty arm lifts the conference table to hold it before him like a shield. The bullets tear chunks from the laminated wood, filling the air with splinters and dust, but he doesn't need it to hold for long - just long enough for Vera's gun to click dry, the last of the shell casings falling to the floor with a metallic chime. 

Then the ruined remnants of the table is coming towards her, flung like an oversized discus

Tables don't make for good weapons, true enough, but they are large and bulky enough that even a glancing blow is enough to carry her back across the hallway and slam her against the wall. Vera's pinned, for a moment, held in place by the weight of furniture pressing her against the wall... and Gao is rushing forwards, a mad light in his eyes, the dragons on his skin hissing in silent fury.

Behind him, she sees the image of Miss Molniya draw a cigarette from somewhere and light it, still watching them with those piercing blue eyes.

Vera grins. 

There's teeth in it as she slips down, pushing the table just enough to slide under. There's a mad light in Gao's eyes? Good. He's angry. 

She pulls her knife out, and quicker than the eye can see, it flickers upwards.

Gao flinches backwards, blood spraying in the air from where Fenris' Fang has cut through his skin and bone as cleanly as the wood that he hoped would protect him. The ruins of the table fall to the ground in two separate pieces, and Gao howls as he staggers, one eye and most of his face gone. 

Distantly Vera hears the thud of impact, the floor shivering, and the ring of steel on steel - her allies are still fighting, it seems... but then so is Gao. Riddled with bullets, cut with a divine blade, he still stands.

" **Ryūjin!** " He roars, his jaw distending like that of a great serpent, oily smoke pouring from between his chipped and stained teeth, " **Consume her!** "

The smoke slides forwards like a living thing, seeking to choke and devour the Wolf-Sister.

Vera's eyes dart to the sides. There's no way she can avoid breathing in, no way she can avoid the toxic fumes. 

She doesn't. Wolf-Sister simply _darts_ forwards and upwards. Stabbing towards Gao's head, and the weak spot he's created. 

The results are, predictably, gruesome. And she steps back, as he _thuds_ to the floor.

Her demeanour is somewhat ruined by the hacking cough, and it's not exactly _fun_ \- but she looks around the room, to see how the other two Scions are doing.

Limping back into the room, Vera sees that the fight seems to be over. Eric is kneeling on the African woman, who seems to have been knocked unconscious and is now being carefully secured with improvised bindings, while nearby Siduru reclines in one of the high-backed leather chairs and cleans her sword with a strip of cloth torn from one of the headless bodies around her feet. The blood splattered across her bare skin, she seems considerably less concerned about.

"You might have helped," Eric grumbles, rising back to his feet and glancing over at the swordswoman.

"And steal your fun?" Siduru responds, a happy smile on her face, "Never."

And there, on the wall, still regarding the band with cold, calculating patience, is Miss Molniya. A long cigar is grasped in two pale fingers, and her piercing eyes weigh and measure each new threat in silent contemplation.

Vera gets her cough under control- _goodness_ that's going to hurt in the morning, but that's not important right now. She merely look back at the woman, memorising her face, evaluating as much as she's being evaluated.

"Eric Donner," the mysterious russian woman says after a moment, and at the precisely calculated chill in her voice the pair of Scions break off their exchange to turn towards her. "Siduru. I assume Miss Saitou is around here somewhere."

Her azure eyes come to rest on Vera, studying her, lingering on the still-bloody knife in her hand. "And a fourth, it seems. My, my. You _have_ been busy."

"I'm afraid you have us at a disadvantage, ma'am," Eric replies, turning to face her with all the proper respectful courtesy of a young American gentleman. "Perhaps introductions might be in order?"

"Molniya will suffice," the Silent Storm's senior operative says, a faint smile of seemingly genuine amusement tugging at her lips. "Though your manners need work. Isn't it polite to introduce yourself _before_ the fighting starts?"

Vera smiles. "Politeness is a luxury when you're in a fight, I find. Besides, it hardly seemed like you needed an introduction."

Carefully, she wipes the knife clean of blood before returning it to its sheathe, her voice still a bit husky from the poison's effect on her lungs.

"I like to stay informed, when it comes to my foes. Most of your merry band are far from the subtle type," Molniya says, and though she is outwardly cordial Vera can read the cold contempt in those eyes. 

"Is she talking about me?" Siduru says idly, picking up the decapitated head of one of the Storm's operative to ask, "You know, silent man, I think she is talking about me."

"You, though," Molniya continues, her eyes focusing on Vera, "You are different. A true professional. I can respect that. If you are open to negotiation, understand that my organisation can be very accommodating."

Vera simply chuckles, shaking her head. "I might be somewhat mercenary- but I have this _thing_ about human trafficking. Pass."

"Ah, a principled mercenary. There are so few of you, these days," Molniya sighs, before extinguishing her cigar in a little silver ash tray. There are no windows behind her, nothing that gives any clue as to her location, save that it is an office somewhere. "Very well. I was prepared to overlook the Green Visions break-in, but much as I disliked him, Mr Gao _was_ a lieutenant of some standing. It seems the time to restrain ourselves has passed."

"I've been threatened before, ma'am," Eric says quietly, his confidence understated but unshakable, "and I wouldn't be much of a man if I let a few mean words stop me from doing what was right."

"Mm. A true hero," Molniya says archly, "Very well, then. Let us cut to the chase, as your kinsmen say."

She nods to someone off-screen, there is the distant echo of words spoken in russian... and then an echoing boom sends the floor and walls of the room shuddering, following by the distant sound of screams and the harsh wailing of the fire alarm.

Vera's expression darkens... before she takes out her phone. 

And snaps a picture of Molniya's face. "Be seeing you."

Then, she turns. And makes her way out of the room, trusting that Eric and Siduru will follow.

The video feed cuts off behind them, as Vera heads back out into the corridor, and from there the stairwell. Already she can hear the sound of running feet and shouts of alarm... and beyond them, the wail of sirens as Gibraltar's emergency services respond to whatever just happened. 

"We need to leave," Eric grunts, hefting the unconscious African lady over one shoulder, "Come on, Hinata will have the boat ready to go."

Vera grunts. "Limited ability on our part to assist in the rescue effort? All right, you've got more familiarity with this part."

She'll need to make the call to SIS to explain this, unfortunately.

But that's for later,

"Well, also we have a hostage and Siduru is covered in blood."

Siduru... Vera thinks she can actually call that a pout. "But _Eric_ , I want to be rescued by muscular firemen who worry over my obvious distress."

"No."

There's a soft chuckle from Vera. "All right. Let's move, then."

Together, the three of them move, racing down the halls and back to the external balcony. The hooks are still where Vera left them, and with inhuman grace (from Siduru) and a great deal of muffled cursing (from Eric) they rappel down the side and rejoin Hinata in the speedboat.

"Well," says the Japanese woman, looking the three over with a raised eyebrow even as she guides the boat back out into open water, "You seem to have found ways to amuse yourselves."

Beyond her, Vera can see the gaping hole in the side of the Sunborn hotel. The walls are blackened and scorched by licking flames, but it seems like the effect was relatively localised - probably charges laid around some manner of vault or saferoom, if she had to guess - and already the hotel's own fire suppression systems are hard at work.

"Not a _perfect_ run of things. I’d have liked to have seen what was in that vault, if possible."

Vera coughs a few times, frowning. "We probably have somewhat of a narrow window of opportunity to keep causing damage. But we know who's likely going to be coming to clean up- a woman calling herself Molniya."

She pauses. "This feels like they're going to be gunning hard for us."

"Hmm. Russian for 'Lightning', I think," Hinata says thoughtfully, while Siduru and Eric relax at the front of the boat, "A cover identity, but the question is whether she's a dedicated cleaner, or the local boss with a more ruthless streak."

"I’ve got a photo, I think... Gonna send it to a few contacts, see if they have anything."

Vera brings the photo up on her phone, showing it to Hinata.

"Cannot say I recognise her, but it is good to know," Hinata nods, as their speedboat makes its way along the coast, "I may run the image past a few of my own family's contacts, if you do not mind sharing it."

Ahead of them, the elegant bulk of the _Setting Sun_ awaits, the Saitou family yacht still moored at anchor. And yet, something itches at the back of Vera's mind as the boat approaches...

Vera looks up, her eyes narrowing. "Hold on. Something's wrong."

The _Setting Sun_ is fine, Vera sees that, with the lights on and crew moving across the deck. And there's no danger to them, because no one can know where they are, so why...

The yacht. It's registered to the Saitou family, and Molniya knows Hinata's name. Which means... there! In the water beyond, three speedboats approaching from the other direction in an arrowhead formation, and at their prow... a man, coat billowing in the wind, a large tube being hefted up onto his shoulder.

"Hinata. Those speedboats. Do you have a way to destroy them?"

Vera points. "Or you're about to lose your ship."

"What? Why would I..." Hinata frowns, following Vera's gaze... and her face goes pale, "Oh, kami, no..."

"Right. ERIC!" 

Vera bellows, as she makes her way towards the front of the boat. "SPEEDBOATS, TAKE THEM OUT IF YOU CAN!"

She doesn't have the ability to- she doesn't have the sniper rifle she brought on her, or any other firearm that can reach across that distance.

But she suspects she knows what's coming next. And only Eric could possibly stop it.

"What?" Eric looks up, catches sight of the boats, "Is that a..."

"Big man, less talk, more action!" Siduru snaps, her sword held in a white knuckled grasp. 

"Right."

Eric draws his pistol. It's a ridiculous gesture, even the overbuilt hand-cannon he wields won't have nearly the range to hit the boats, but he doesn't try. He lifts the gun to point at the heavens instead, and around his brawny arms gathers a flickering corona of lightning. It races down the arm, across his hand, onto the grip of the pistol. It coils around the small piece of stone that serves as the hammer.

Across the fragment of _Mjolnir_. 

Eric Donner fires, and the roar of his gun is the roar of thunder, a solid wave of sound and force that shatters waves and sends the speedboat bucking like a wild horse. A heartbeat later and the azure skies over Gibraltar go dark, stormclouds boiling out of thin air, wind howling in a sudden gale, lightning falling like so much rain to scorch the sea and ground. 

The Silent Storm's speedboats shiver, knocked astray, and when the man on the prow pulls the trigger the hissing rocket he fires misses the _Setting Sun_ by a matter of inches and detonates harmlessly in the water beyond.

Vera's grin has teeth to it, as she looks to the pilot of the boat "Steer us towards the speedboats, head them off."

"Or at least, make _sure_ they're headed off."

She readies her gun, just in case.

"Are you crazy?" Hinata calls, a frantic edge to her voice as she tries to keep control of the boat amid the suddenly surging waves, "I'm not some... agh!"

Vera nods after a moment. "Let me take the wheel, I can at least steer a bit better. I don't want to give them room to try again."

Hinata yields the helm with almost unseemingly haste, scrabbling sideways to cling to the rail with a white-knuckled grip.

In the distance, Vera sees the three speedboats turn and begin accelerating away again, powering their way through the sudden surge of waves and wind.

Vera does give chase- or at least, lets them _think_ she is. That said... the storm, while it saved the _Sun_ , does make it impossible for her to pursue, at least not without risking someone going over the side. 

The 00 agent curses softly, but turns back towards the _Rising Sun_. "Sorry about that, Hinata. But fortunately... we _did_ save your ship."

"And the people on it, just as importantly."

"Yes," Hinata says shakily, looking a little green, "We did. Thank you. And... I think that is as good a sign as any to move the _Sun_ away from Gibraltar. We might not get so lucky a second time."

"Right, right," Eric grunts, holding on as best he can as the waves buck and roll, "Sorry about that, it should die down soon, just... not a lot of options."

"You did pretty well. If I'd had something longer-range on me, I would have taken a few shots, but... this was probably the best option. I can get us a safehouse on the actual peninsula, might just take a bit."

She frowns. "You've fought the Storm a lot- have they ever escalated like this before?"

"With an rpg? No," Eric shakes his head, "I've seen them burn down safehouses and the like, but that's... you can pretend that's arson."

"While this is... very public."

Vera frowns. "As is the bombing. So yes, move the _Sun_ away from Gibraltar, and I’ll get that safe house."

She brings the boat into dock, thinking as she does so.

"Yes, of course. I will... do that. And then we can make our plans for what comes next," Hinata says, rapidly regaining her composure. 

"They cannot be allowed to get away with this."

"Agreed."


End file.
